


Rushing To Say Nothing

by LynnLarsh



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: A solid helping of Klangst, Alien Cultural Differences, Basically consent is given but the terms are morally ambiguous, Brothels, Explicit Sexual Content, First times... sort of?, M/M, Mildly Dubious Consent, Our boys get their shit together by the end, but not to worry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-14
Updated: 2017-02-23
Packaged: 2018-09-24 12:38:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 36,787
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9727223
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LynnLarsh/pseuds/LynnLarsh
Summary: “What the hell was that?” Keith says, sounding strangely pissed.  Probably jealous; whatever happened, Lance is a lucky son of a bitch and Keith knows it.Coran clears his throat before answering, and when Lance finally pulls his eyes away from the crowd, that purplish blush from earlier has increased to a noticeable shade of violet across his cheeks.  “It seems our boy Lance here has just been propositioned by the local brothel.”A.k.a. That time Lance went into an alien brothel to prove a point and came out perhaps a little too enlightened.





	1. Part One: Lance

**Author's Note:**

  * For [kali_asleep](https://archiveofourown.org/users/kali_asleep/gifts).



> Welp. It was only a matter of time before I wrote something smutty in this fandom. It was an idea I just couldn't seem to shake, so here's hoping everyone enjoys reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it. It'll be two chapters in full, part two going up some time next week.
> 
> As always, all of my thanks goes to the ever talented and beautiful kali_asleep. This wouldn't have gotten written without your help and guidance. You are my perpetual confidence booster. Thank you, love.
> 
> Also. Pepperidge Farm Remembers.

It’s rare for them to get a moment to themselves like this. What with Allura’s constant tweaks to their training regimens and the near daily battles with Zarkon’s unending supply of Galra fleets, there’s just never been much room for downtime. So it comes as a sudden and very, very pleasant surprise when Allura recommends everyone take a mental health day.

“Sometimes rest is equally as important as physical and mental training,” Allura explains, though it goes without saying that the day off is more than likely Coran’s idea. Either way, as the expression proclaims: Never look a gift horse in the mouth. So Lance and the rest of the Voltron Paladins keep their own mouths shut and accept her gracious offer.

A surprisingly small but peaceful planet is chosen, one far outside of Zarkon’s empire, and the castle touches down in a valley a few miles west of a bustling city. The planet Saveelia is a known tourist spot in this galactic sector, Coran briefs them once they’ve all been ushered into some sort of changing area at the back of the Castle, the room filled with various styles of alien clothing. 

Before long, they’re all outfitted in proper Saveelian attire; braided gold cuffs and sweeping criss-crosses of dark fabric appear to be all the rage here. Lance’s outfit in particular seems to be built entirely of individual strips of thick, black material, layering tight over his chest and back before falling into loosened loops around his waist, making the whole thing appear as if it were slowly unraveling. His arms are left bare but for a couple of fancy looking bangles on his right wrist and a gold cuff on his left forearm. Add all that to the legging-style black bottoms and the belted leather boots that wrap all the way up to his calf, and Lance can’t help but feel kinda badass. Hell, he might even call it sexy.

“Saveelians really know how to dress,” Lance hums in approval as he turns this way and that in front of the three-way mirror. He hears a couple of groans from around the room, but no other response beyond everyone putting the finishing touches on their own similarly styled outfits. Once he’s taken in every one of his best angles (and let’s face it, they’re all pretty amazing), Lance shoots his reflection some finger guns and a wink and then saunters over to Hunk’s side.

“I feel like a mummy,” Hunk frowns, wrapping the belt-like piece of fabric around waist and chest for what looks like the umpteenth time. Finally, he reaches the end, fastening it to a bobble that rests on his right shoulder. Lance taps his chin.

“You kinda look like a ninja.”

“I can live with that,” Hunk grins, placing two thick, gold cuffs on each wrist, ensemble complete.

When Lance glances around, everyone seems to be about there as well. Shiro’s outfit looks dangerously snug, both arms wrapped up tight in criss-crossing strips of navy and indigo, a pattern which persists all the way down to his waist. When he adds a black glove his left hand, Lance assumes he chose it as a means of hiding his Galra prosthetic. Allura and Pidge are both donned in outfits that look similarly to Hunk’s, though Allura’s seems to have far more decorative swoops of fabric than any of theirs, and Pidge’s is simplest, only a layered, short sleeved top and leggings. As Lance watches, Allura sits a gold loop over her forehead while Pidge fiddles with a growing stack of bangles.

“I don’t get why we have to play dress up just to walk around a planet for a few hours,” Keith huffs from the corner where he’s been struggling with his own ensemble. “Why can’t we just wear our suits like we normally do?”

“Today, you are not visiting this planet as representatives or as paladins, you are visiting as tourists. And on Saveelia, it is deemed most respectful to their culture to come dressed in proper Saveelian attire,” Allura replies. She also follows it up with more sage advice about diplomacy or something, but Lance doesn’t hear her. He’s too distracted by Keith’s outfit.

Where Lance’s top covers him from neck to waist, Keith’s dips low, interweaving strips of fabric dangling in deep red arcs down past his collarbone. It continues this way along his arms and well past his hips, stretches of pale skin blatantly noticeable in the spaces between. Keith’s pants, however, sit in stark contrast, black swaths of leather-looking fabric wrapping tight, tight, tight around strong thighs and firm calves and an ass that begs to be looked at. Not that Lance is looking. Or has ever looked. Why would he? Except, he can’t tear his eyes away now, from any of it. Especially as Keith ties his mullet up into something presentable and finishes off the outfit with a bright, gold choker, bringing attention to the long line of his neck. Lance swallows.

“Alright, everybody!” Coran claps his hands, thankfully snapping Lance out of what was probably becoming a creepy analysis of Keith’s new Saveelian-themed visage. The room turns to face Coran, his own attire a dark blue and layered over itself in a way that seems far too complicated to be functional, somehow winding across his left arm and up to his neck before falling in loops down to his right knee. When he gestures into the open space between them, a screen blinking into existence, the loops all swing in different directions.

“I’ve landed the castle at a sort of epi-center to the planet’s three main hot spots,” he says, a large map zooming in on the area at the center of the screen. With a wave of his hand, Coran further magnifies each of the three sections in turn. “A few miles to Saveelia’s southeast is a lovely little city called Toor and home to much of Saveelia’s art scene! There are theaters and museums, some fine dining experiences that are unmatched in this part of the galaxy, all and all, a fabulous place to spend the evening.”

The image on the map zooms back out, the second one taking its place. “To the north is a smaller city called Eem. I guess you could call this Saveelia’s R&D department. Eem houses Saveelia’s main historical library, many of their scientific laboratories and technical facilities, as well as observation towers that overlook some of the most beautiful scenery on the planet.”

The image of Eem is quickly replaced with the final section of the map, the area to their west that Lance noticed upon landing. “Perhaps the most interesting of the three, however, is the city of Qaan. It’s known for it’s lavish marketplaces and exotic nightlife. King Alfor and I spent many an evening in Qaan when we were in our prime. Drinking Nunvil, watching the Yelmore races in the arena. Quite the prominent gambling scene back in the day. Not that we ever partook of any of that, of course, Princess,” Coran clears his throat, avoiding Allura’s amused but chiding gaze as he searches for a change of topic. “Qaan is also known for their beautiful women!”

Lance instantly perks up. “I think Qaan sounds lovely, Coran. I vote that place.”

“Of course you do,” Keith sighs, leaning against the wall and crossing his arms over his chest. He looks like he’s ready to go back to the Castle and they haven’t even left it yet.

“What? It sounds like the most fun out of the three, don’t you think?” Lance argues. “I mean, come on. Art museums? Yaaaaawn. Libraries? Snore city. Apparently Qaan is where the party’s at!”

In the end, Lance somehow manages to convince half the group to join him. Shiro opts out, offering instead to accompany Allura to Toor for some art exhibition and a show. No one is surprised. They tease them with well wishes on their date, to which both steadfastly deny it being, and nobody is surprised by that either.

Pidge decides to take her own pod to Eem’s main research center (another shocker) and Coran nominates Hunk for extraction.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Pidge clicks her tongue, glaring at Coran over the top of her glasses. 

Before Coran can dig himself into a hole, however, Shiro chimes in with a matter-of-fact, “Once you’ve buried yourself in Saveelian tech, we’re pretty sure the only way we’ll ever see you again is if somebody brings you back to the Castle by force.”

“That’s-!” Pidge starts to argue, but then she stops, probably thinking about all of the technology and information she’ll have at her disposal over in Eem. Eventually she shrugs. “That’s fair. See you later, Hunk.” She nods her acceptance in his direction and then heads towards the hangar.

Which leaves Hunk, Keith, and Coran accompanying Lance to the city of Qaan.

From the Castle, the city had looked a decent size, maybe a bit active but not exactly hoppin’. The moment they park the pod and head towards the center of the city, however, Lance instantly takes it all back.

Qaan is massive, people filling every corner of the expansive marketplace, their voices carrying in a jumbled layer of atmospheric presence. Lance can feel his own energy spiking just by being in the vicinity of it all, a rush of excitement bubbling to life at the center of his chest. What can he say? He’s an extrovert; the more people he gets to be around and talk to and possibly flirt with, the more he thrives. So Lance dives right in. Starting with the adorable looking vendor selling what appears to be some kind of Saveelian pottery.

“Hey there, beautiful,” he purrs, sidling right up to her booth. “You come here often?” The Saveelian girl tilts her head to the side, a look of confusion spreading across her heart-shaped face.

“This is my booth. I work it daily.”

But then, before the pickaxe of embarrassment can begin to chip away at Lance’s dignity, she giggles at him and Lance is over the moon. 

Saveelians appear to be a humanoid race, perhaps a bit on the shorter side than the average human, but by no means Arusian in height. Their skin, varying in shades of bluish-grey, looks almost matte in comparison to his own, and it even sparkles a bit in the afternoon sun, as if embedded with millions of tiny sapphires. Their hair looks similar to extremely smooth dreadlocks, fashioned atop their heads in various styles, everyone sporting the same dark purple color. But even beyond that, even beyond the two extra arms, beyond the tails (which Lance doesn’t notice until the adorable vendor picks up a pot with hers), it’s their eyes that really capture Lance’s attention. Like looking through a kaleidoscope, colorful patterns shifting every time they blink.

The vendor (whose name Lance wouldn’t be able to pronounce if he tried) talk for a bit longer, Lance’s flirt meter on high, but eventually, Keith groans, grabbing him by the wrist and dragging him away. It’s not until then that Lance notices Hunk and Coran have already wandered off. When Lance asks Keith why he didn’t follow suit and just go off exploring the market like they did, all he gets is another sharp tug on his wrist, leading him further into the crowd.

“Somebody had to stay behind and make sure you didn’t do something stupid,” he says. But before Lance can argue that he’s never done anything stupid ever in his life, Hunk pops back into their line of sight, and that is that.

Unsurprisingly, Hunk and Coran are at a large booth filled with various types of fresh produce and spices. Even from a distance, Lance can see them talking over each other in their attempt to explain exactly how they’d use each ingredient in their own variation on the Paladin Lunch.

“Ah,” Coran perks up when he sees Keith and Lance approaching. “Finally manage to pry our Blue Paladin away from the Saveelian enchantress?” Keith lets go of Lance’s wrist and takes a step away. It’s only with that motion that Lance realizes Keith had been holding on to him the whole time. He decides not to think about how warm Keith’s hand had been.

“You weren’t kidding about the beautiful Saveelian women, Coran,” Lance winks, even going out of his way to wiggle his eyebrows as he scans the crowd. “This place is a gold mine.”

“Be careful there, Mr. Gold Mine,” Coran tutts, mustache ruffling atop his upper lip as he sniffs. “They are as beautiful as they are ruthless. They won’t have any problem telling you exactly where you can put your advances.”

“Sounds like you know this from experience,” Hunk smirks, elbowing Coran in the side, and Lance doesn’t quite know what to do with the information that Altean blushes are more of a light purple than a human pink.

Before Hunk and he can watch Coran sputter his way out of the conversation, however, another beautiful Saveelian woman walks up to their group and stops, everyone falling silent. And man, if she isn’t absolutely gorgeous, the shade of her skin leaning more towards a nice cerulean, her dread-like hair piled atop her head in extravagant braids. When she looks at Lance, she winks, and he swears he feels his knees go weak.

Suddenly she grins, reaching out with one of her two right arms to grab Lance’s hand. Then, as if in slow motion, he watches her place the other hand into the looping folds of her top, fishing out a piece of paper and carefully placing it in Lance’s palm, closing his fingers around it. Just as quickly as she’d come, she’s gone, leaving Lance to watch the sway of her hips and tail as she disappears among the crowd.

Keith is the first one to break the silence. 

“What the hell was that?” He says, sounding strangely pissed. Probably jealous; whatever happened, Lance is a lucky son of a bitch and Keith knows it.

Coran clears his throat before answering, and when Lance finally pulls his eyes away from the crowd, that purplish blush from earlier has increased to a noticeable shade of violet across his cheeks. “It seems our boy Lance here has just been propositioned by the local brothel.”

Everyone falls into an awkward, uncomfortable silence. Lance lets his wide-set gaze fall from Coran to the paper, a small flier, he realizes. It has a name and an address, a symbol drawn onto the bottom that Lance doesn’t recognize. Why would he? Lance looks back up and everyone is staring at him. His defenses rise instantly.

Okay. Yeah, he’s a massive flirt and would kill to find himself a girlfriend (hell, or a boyfriend, he’s not picky), but a brothel? Even he’s not that much of a horndog. He doesn’t have something against the sex industry or anything (he knows it’s as valid of a job as any, and he’d be lying if he didn’t say he’d done his fair share of supporting the internet porn business back on Earth) but paying for sex just isn’t where it’s at for him. He wants connection, you know? He wants sex that means something. Otherwise, it’s just like jerking off but with somebody else’s hand. Or mouth. Or-

“Well of c-course they’d choose me,” Lance dives head first into an overabundance of overly dramatic confidence. Because that’s what he does when he’s nervous, and this situation is literally fraying his nerves to bits. “Obviously, out of the four of us, she could tell who was the most attractive, interesting, and experienced of the bunch.” Probably too far, but at least it brings an end to the awkward silence.

Hunk is chuckling behind his hand now, Coran propping an arm against his hip with a placating smirk. Keith, however, is having none of it.

“Yeah sure,” he snorts, clicking his tongue and rolling his eyes, as if one wasn’t enough. “I’ll bet you’ve got _loads_ of experience in this sort of thing.”

And obviously no one was meant to believe him, not really. Obviously, he’d said all that just to lighten the mood. But god dammit if Keith doesn’t know exactly how to get under his skin. Which is why, despite the very obvious lie, Lance walks into Keith’s personal space to bite back, “You bet I do, mullet.”

“Oh really?” Keith stares him down, challenging him like he always, always does. Lance isn’t that much taller than him, but it’s enough that, at such a small distance, Keith has to look up to maintain eye contact. Yet still, the feeling that Keith is looking down at him crawls beneath Lance’s skin like those scarabs from that old movie about the mummy.

“Yeah really,” Lance challenges right back. “I’ve never paid for it, but I’ve definitely been asked for it, so it totally counts.” What the fuck is he saying? He’s never even _seen_ a vagina outside of porn. Or a penis that wasn’t his, for that matter. But for some reason, the way that Keith is looking at him makes him want to stretch the truth, to seem more knowledgeable than he actually is. “I’ve actually had multiple one night stands and pretty much every type of sex and at one point one girl even offered to pay _me_.” 

Okay. Definitely too far on that one. But he just can’t seem to help himself. Coran and Hunk start chuckling again and Keith starts grinning like he’s won, and as much as he knows he’s going to regret it, the words are out before he can stop them.

“In fact,” Lance declares. “I think I’m gonna go check it out.”

The amusement from seconds ago vanishes.

“Whoa, wait,” Hunk jumps in first. “I don’t think that’s such a good idea.” Keith is frowning and Coran looks like he’s about to have an aneurism.

“It might seem like fun,” he says. “But they have a unique way of doing things around here. It might be best if you don’t try to-”

“What?” Lance puts on a forced but hopefully convincing display of nonchalance. “I’m sure Saveelian’s aren’t too different from humans in… in that regard. And Allura _did_ tell us to let off some steam, so why not?”

“Lance…” It’s Hunk’s warning tone, the one he’d try to use at the Garrison whenever Lance was about to do something stupid, but this time Lance _knows_ it’s stupid. He just… can’t seem to stop himself. Especially since Keith hasn’t said anything to dissuade him, like he’s waiting for Lance to either back down or-

Or.

“Well then!” Lance says as if on autopilot, body pulling away from their small circle with movements that don’t even feel like his own. Which is fine, because Lance has no idea what his plan is, everything happening as if some other more vindictive creature has taken control of his body. Lance even waves the paper in their direction tauntingly like a fucking asshole. What is he doing? “I’ll see you losers back at the castle.” Then, he turns away from them and quickly vanishes into the crowd.

He hates himself.

But he just… He can’t stop when he gets like this, when Keith starts being all _Keith_ and pushes and prods and makes Lance do things he wouldn’t normally do. It’s like, in wanting to be better, in wanting to defeat him, in wanting to make it known that Keith isn’t the only one who’s fast and strong and talented, he also manages to find himself battling with more insignificant things. Who can get to their lion the fastest? Who can eat the most food goo at dinner? Who can come up with the most consistent and original insults? Lance’s favorite. He totally kicked Keith’s ass at that one.

He never thought this rivalry would end up with him standing outside of an alien brothel, though. He probably needs to reconsider some of his life choices.

The building the address has led him too is surprisingly ornate. Not that Lance has a whole bunch of brothels to go off of for comparison, but he always assumed one would be more Hole in the Wall and less Five Star Hotel.

He really doesn’t know why he’s doing this. He has no reason to beyond proving to Keith that he can, and that shouldn’t be as much of a motivator as it is anyway. So he should turn around, go back, tell them they wouldn’t let in a human. He could even say he got into a fight with the guard over something like an All Humans Are Diseased stereotype, make his lie more believable. But before he can put his escape plan into action, the large double doors swing open, the Saveelian girl from before ushering him inside.

Lance swallows back the nervousness, wills his heart to stop pounding, and follows her into the building. Guess he’s doing this?

They walk down an impressively decorated hallway, the floors shining in patterns that remind Lance of their kaleidoscope eyes. The walls are sparsely decorated, only the occasional piece of framed art on the walls, and it makes Lance feel cold. Kind of like being in a hospital. 

When they turn the corner, there are finally rooms, and while Lance’s heart jumps, ears expecting to hear the sounds of sex bleeding into the hallway, it’s still as quiet in this hall as it was in the first.

“This is your first time in a Saveelian Den, is it not?” The girl finally speaks, voice soft but rich, like there’s a rumbling beneath every word. Lance attempts to fall back on snark, on feigned confidence, but he’s a bit too tense for any of that. So he simply tells the truth and offers her a silent nod. She smiles, reaching out to place a hand against the small of his back. Lance can’t help the shiver that wracks him at the touch. “I guarantee a pleasurable experience for you then, human.”

“Lance,” he corrects her, the vague label of his race making the whole ordeal seem even more surreal and uncomfortable. Though the word comes out as more of a squeak than anything. He clears his throat and tries again. “My name is Lance.”

The Saveelian girl smiles again, nodding in understanding as she comes to a stop. She gestures towards an open door. Lance swallows thickly, glancing inside. It looks a bit like what he imagines the inside of a Genie’s lamp to look like, brightly colored scarves hung about as decoration, various bean-bag-chair-looking-things littered throughout the room. Everything is dimly lit in orange and red hues and when Lance’s eyes fall on the elaborately made up bed in the corner, everything suddenly feels _way_ too real.

“You know what?” He chuckles anxiously, taking a step away from the door. “I think I’m just gonna-”

“You are nervous,” The Saveelian says, voice surprisingly comforting despite the comment. Lance feels more like a frightened animal being soothed rather than an anxious kid being picked on. It’s that more than anything that makes Lance answer truthfully.

“Y-Yeah, I kinda… I didn’t actually plan on doing this? I mostly just wanted to prove to my friend that I would.”

“Hm,” The Saveelian nods, as if this answer is a perfectly reasonable one. Though Lance doesn’t doubt she’s seen any number of weird things in her line of work. “You know, human,” she starts, but when Lance flinches at the term, she chuckles softly and tries again. “My apologies. You know, _Lance._ Saveelian Dens aren’t just about physical intimacy. They are about self-discovery. About experience and pleasure and experience _through_ pleasure. We do not simply offer you a means for release, we offer you understanding.” She walks away from his side and more completely into his line of sight, reaching out to place one of her hands against his cheek. Her skin feels like velvet. “I think, perhaps, this is something you have been secretly longing for.”

And either she’s very, very good at her job, or she’s right. Because hearing those words, feeling that soft touch against his face, makes him actually consider staying.

“You are permitted to leave at any time,” she says, letting her hand fall away, though not before her fingers brush softly against his jaw, his neck. “But I believe this will be an enlightening experience for you. So I do hope you will stay till the end.” Then, with a slight lift of her chin towards the door, she asks, “Will you stay, Lance?”

And fuck, if he’s not a sucker for a pretty face. Because despite his nerves, despite his original reasons for being here in the first place, Lance finds himself taking a deep breath, in and out, and mumbling a soft, “Yeah alright.” 

The Saveelian smiles knowingly at him and gestures once again towards the room. With few other choices at this point, Lance does as instructed, taking a seat on the edge of the bed once inside. When she follows him in that direction, he expects things to start up quickly, pulse jumping even as blood rushes south in nervous excitement, but all she does is stop a few inches away, hand outstretched.

The realization is sobering, a blatant reminder of what he’s doing, but Lance can’t exactly back out now, can he? So he reaches into the tight, back pocket of his Saveelian pants and grabs the few bills Coran had given them all prior to leaving the castle. For any souvenirs they might have wanted to purchase on planet, he’d said. And while this technically wasn’t something he could bring back with him, proving Keith wrong seemed like souvenir enough.

“I don’t really… Is this enough?” Lance says, offering the Saveelian woman the three slips of strange textured paper. Her eyes widen for a split second before falling back into casual politeness.

“Plenty,” she smiles, taking the alien currency and pocketing it. Then, oddly, she reaches towards him again. “Now I require your life.”

Lance’s blood runs cold, alarms going off at the back of head that scream _trap, trap, trap_! Maybe the Saveelians have secretly been in league with the Galra. Maybe the rest of his team has already been captured. Maybe Lance is about to have to fight his way out of his own capture all because he made the stupid, _stupid_ decision of letting Keith get under his skin again and-

“I do not intend to cause you any harm, Lance,” the Saveelian chuckles suddenly, as if only just realizing Lance’s panic. Lance narrows his eyes at her, not really buying it, but she only continues to reach towards him, waiting for him to understand. “Everyone holds life differently,” she says after a moment. “Some in their eyes, some in their mouths. I have never before touched the life of a human, so I am unsure as to where you carry yours.”

It takes him a painfully long moment before he manages to come to any sort of feasible conclusion on that one. Honestly, it’s like trying to solve a riddle in another language with earplugs in, but Lance thinks he understands. Or, at least, thinks he has a vague idea. Maybe.

“Um, humans usually check for signs of life at pulse points,” he offers. “Like our neck, o-or our wrist. Would that-?” He holds out his wrist, even going so far as to place two fingers against it and locate his pulse for her, tapping the spot once he does. She hums again, nodding in satisfied acceptance.

When she places her own fingers against his pulse, it feels as though something akin to warm honey begins to drip beneath his skin, spreading in sticky tendrils from wrist to arm to shoulder to neck, crawling up into his temple and settling there like the welcoming cushion of a recently used pillow. He thinks for a second that he’s being drugged, everything slowing down a bit, getting warmer and softer around the edges, but before he can start to panic, the Saveelian has pulled away, letting his arm drop back to his side. Everything snaps back into cold and anxious focus.

“It will take me only a moment to prepare myself,” she says, already heading towards the door, leaving Lance feeling slightly dizzy. “You may do whatever makes you most comfortable in the meantime.” 

“O-Okay,” Lance offers oh so eloquently in return, but she’s already disappeared back into the hallway. Leaving Lance alone on the bed, in a room, in a brothel, on an alien planet.

To reiterate. What the fucking _fuck_ is he _doing_?

Just as she’d said, it’s only a moment or two before the door opens again, thankfully not leaving Lance alone with his thoughts for too long. Lance isn’t sure if he was supposed to get undressed or what, but he hasn’t moved an inch, doesn’t know if he could. Everything is happening way too quickly, and the sound of the door opening only adds to his growing trepidation. Should he greet her? Should he let her tell him what to do? He’s not beyond that. Should he- Oh. Oh _no_.

“What the _fuck_?” Lance jumps to his feet, hackles raised and heart racing into overdrive. “What the fuck are _you_ doing here?” He watches as the look on Keith’s face morphs from fear to apprehension to general confusion.

Of course. Of fucking _course_ Keith would follow him. Of course he would make sure Lance stayed true to his challenge, attempt to find out if his bark was worse than his bite, but to actually come inside, to actually wait for him to be alone so he could guilt him or goad him is another thing entire-

Wait.

“Keith?” Lance hears himself ask on half second delay, every other part of his brain too busy trying to make sense of what he’s seeing. “What are you wearing?”

Where Lance had seen Keith last in his choice of Saveelian ensemble, he stands before him now in nothing more than a sweeping robe of thin fabric. It’s nearly see-through and made of layered strips of what looks like light pink silk. It also does nothing to hide the fact the Keith is very, _very_ naked underneath.

Another moment of confusion and then a look of realization flashes across Keith’s face. “Is that this one’s name? Keith?” Keith runs his hands through his hair, down his neck, and further, letting fingers brush over clavicle and chest and- “Only images and emotions make it through the Transfer, occasionally certain sounds like melody and voice, but never words. Never names,” Keith is saying, one hand reaching up to clasp lightly at his shoulder while the other drapes elegantly at his waist. His head is dipped back, exposing every inch of that pale, glorious neck of his, and Lance has no idea what’s happening, but he’s pretty sure he’s dead.

“K-Keith,” Lance chokes out embarrassingly, forcing him to cough away the tension in his throat before trying again. “This isn’t funny.”

That seductive look on Keith’s face lasts for only a few more seconds (thankfully) before it falls into one of shy concern. He reaches a hand up to touch at his face, eyes looking from Lance to the floor. “Does this form displease you, Lance?” He says, and realization smacks into Lance like a baseball bat to the back of the head. “The Transfer was quite clear, but I can make another attempt to-”

“You’re not him,” Lance interrupts probably a little rudely, but even if he thinks he understands, he needs proof, he needs to know. “You’re not actually Keith.”

Keith (or the Saveelian?) blinks once, twice, before his face falls into something akin to relief. “No, Lance. I am not your Keith.”

It’s such a simple phrase, but Lance feels heat rush from south to north, his face burning. “He’s not _my_ Keith, he’s just-”

“Some of our kind are born with the gift of the Transfer,” The Saveelian continues on despite Lance’s stammering. “It allows us to tap into your deepest desires and bring them to life.”

Which makes no sense at all, but okay. “So then… Why do you look like him? Like Keith?” He asks, a part of him desperately wanting not to hear the answer.

“What we take from your life in the Transfer, is the image of the one at the center of that desire, the one that holds the most untapped, intimate potential.” The Saveelian reaches a hand towards Keith’s mouth, tongue darting out to lick at his finger before sucking it between his lips, and Lance feels like he’s gonna pass out. This isn’t Keith, this isn’t Keith, but _fuck_ if it doesn’t look like him and sound like him, and he shouldn’t be so turned on by this but he can’t-

“Lance,” The Saveelian says, and the sound of his name in that voice, in Keith’s voice but rougher, sexier, needier… He can’t take it. He looks down at his own lap, hoping beyond hope that his boner isn’t blatantly obvious in these Saveelian clothes. It is. “This form is what your desire has told me you want.” Keith but not Keith keeps talking, and suddenly there’s a hand against Lance’s cheek. When his head snaps back up, Keith’s eyes are watching him, those stupidly beautiful eyes in that unnaturally beautiful violet color staring him down, asking him a question he doesn’t know how to answer.

“I-I don’t know if I can-”

“Would you like me to redo the Transfer?” He says, close enough that Lance can feel his breath ghosting across his burning cheeks. “I can dig deeper, find another form that appeals to you, though I can’t guarantee it will be as strong as this one.”

Lance steadfastly decides not to think too hard about the fact that apparently _Keith_ is his strongest sexual fantasy, instead choosing to genuinely consider the offer. Part of him doesn’t hesitate, wants to say _yes, absolutely, give me anyone else, anyone_. But another stronger part of him doesn’t want to risk it. What if they come back as Allura or Shiro? What if they come back as that girl from the Garrison that he thought about a couple of times in the middle of the night, a guilty hand around himself? It’s too dangerous, he decides. Really, he should just leave. He should… but he doesn’t really _want_ to? He’s already a little too turned on and way too confused, so even though it’s tilted his whole world almost completely off its axis, Lance decides to let it play out and think about it later. Much later. When he’s not hard and throbbing in his pants.

“No, um. No, Keith is fine. You can… You can keep looking like him.”

When the look in Keith’s eyes shift to something knowing, something dark and sinful and aware, Lance feels his breath catch at the back of his throat. He shouldn’t be doing this. It’s wrong and totally some kind of invasion of Keith’s privacy or something, but… But it’s hard to deny how much he wants this, has wanted it for a while. Well, not _this_ exactly… but Keith. He’s been obnoxiously good at convincing himself that all those thoughts, all those desires, were hatred or anger or challenge. He’d convinced himself that, when he jacked off to the idea of having Keith’s mouth wrapped around him or of bending him over the nearest available surface, it was just proximity, or space driving him crazy. He couldn’t possibly want Keith. Not really, not like that anyway. Right?

Wrong.

Seeing this version of Keith, a fake Keith that looks and sounds and feels so, so real, completely shatters any future denial. He wants Keith more than he’s ever wanted another person, he begrudgingly admits. His whole body vibrates with the idea of having Keith’s hands and mouth anywhere near him, having the ability to touch and taste and get as close to him as he can... They’re things he wouldn’t let himself think about until this moment, and now that the dam has broken, he’s completely flooded with that want.

The Saveelian- No… Keith. It’s alright, isn’t it? No one else will ever know, and if he’s going full hog on this, he might as well let himself pretend. So. 

Keith takes another step towards him.

“I’ll make this good for you, Lance,” he says, voice low, and Lance thinks he might pass out for a second with how quickly blood rushes to his dick.

Keith pauses then, briefly, reaching for the collar of his robe with a slow, sensual sort of determination. The material falls away from his shoulders and to the floor, and suddenly Keith is naked. Naked and standing in front of Lance and- And _fuck_. And also sporting an impressive erection of his own apparently.

“H-Holy shit,” Lance wheezes, unable to pull his eyes away. A bit hysterically, he finds himself wondering if the real Keith’s dick would look the same, not too long, not too girthy, a slight curve to it, head glistening. He’s never seen Keith’s penis, never expected to, really, so any info the Saveelian has pulled out of his head on that front is just delicious make believe. Yet still, Lance can’t deny how much it suits him. Is it possible for someone to have an attractive penis? Because Lance thinks Keith might have one.

After a moment of pretty blatant ogling, Keith walks back into Lance’s personal space, even closer this time. He settles himself between Lance’s knees, forcing him to spread his legs wider to accommodate. It puts Keith’s dick in touching distance, and Lance surprises himself by how much he wants to do just that. In fact, his hand is moving in Keith’s direction before his brain even really gives it the order to do so. He stops himself immediately, retuning his arm to his side and grabbing for a handful of alien bed sheets instead. He doesn’t even know if he’s allowed to do that. Is he supposed to just sit back and let Keith do whatever he wants? Is he supposed to reciprocate? He’s pretty sure he’s going to have an anxiety attack by the end of all this.

Keith chuckles, the sound making Lance’s heart stutter. “If you wish to touch me, you may.”

When Lance looks up at him in surprise, Keith is smirking. _Smirking_. And it’s Keith’s legit smirk too, the one he always wears when he thinks Lance is being stupid or about to lose one of their challenges. That smirk is like a challenge in and of itself, and it just _does_ things to him, makes his blood boil and his pulse skyrocket. So he loses himself in the familiarity of it, reaching forward just so he can wipe that smirk off of Keith’s face.

His hand hesitates briefly before he’s wrapping trembling fingers around Keith’s length, skin hot and smooth beneath his touch as he gives it an experimental stroke. A soft sound, like a gasp or a choked off moan, grabs Lance’s attention, and when he looks up, his heart stops.

Keith is staring down at him, eyes heavy lidded and glazed. His lips are parted, soft breaths escaping between them that Lance can just barely hear. And as his tongue peeks out to dampen those lips, teeth sucking the bottom one into his mouth for a moment before letting go, Lance decides he really, really wants to kiss him. 

“Can I?” he asks with absolutely no pretext, as if expecting Keith to just know, and fuck if his own voice doesn’t sound completely wrecked already. Lucky for him, Saveelians must have some kind of telepathy in the Transfer too, because Keith _does_ seem to know, leaning in without further prompting. Lips still slightly wet from spit press softly against his own.

Keith leads the kiss, which is good, because Lance isn’t sure he’s got the brain function to do much more than follow right now. And Keith is a great kisser, like 10/10 would recommend. His lips are firm, fitting perfectly against his own, and when Keith’s teeth nip at his bottom lip, Lance feels the tremor through every inch of his very tense, very aroused body. An arousal that only continues to grow when Keith licks into his mouth, tongue seeming eager to taste every space within. Keith in turn tastes kinda sweet, like strawberries maybe. Or Fruity Pebbles. He bets the real Keith wouldn’t taste like Fruity Pebbles. It makes him wonder what flavor he’d taste if given the chance to find out.

Lance tries to reciprocate, letting his own tongue explore Keith’s mouth too, but if he’s being honest, he’s never really had much practice with this sort of thing. He feels like he’s drooling too much, or that he’s moving his tongue in weird ways, but if Keith minds, he doesn’t say so. Instead, he just sucks on Lance’s tongue a bit and Lance groans. _Fuck_ that’s hot.

After another few moments of the best make out session of Lance’s life, Keith pulls back, the both of them breathing just a little bit heavier. Lance’s hand falls away from Keith’s cock, not that he’d been doing much with it; at one point during the kiss, he’d stopped moving entirely, too distracted to do much more than kiss back. Now, however, Keith’s hand takes his place, moving lowly, tantalizingly over himself.

The image of Keith stroking his own erection will be forever seared in Lance’s mind, the only thing in his spank bank for years to come. Lance is suddenly so hard it literally, physically hurts.

“What would you like to do to me, Lance?” Keith all but purrs.

Yup. Agonizingly, painfully hard.

How does he even answer that question? An hour ago, he was still living in naïve bliss, content with blatant denial of these feelings. But now? Now he gets to actually live out a fantasy he’d assumed he’d have to take to his grave, and he’s expected to know what to do? They’re only on planet for a couple more hours. It doesn’t feel like enough time to decide.

Keith chuckles again, probably at whatever look of pained desperation must be on Lance’s face, but the sound soothes him some, warms his heart. They’re only here for today. This is his only chance to have this. Like hell if he’s going to ever tell anyone, most especially not the real Keith, so he’d better make it count.

“G-Get on your knees.”

A little bit of a stutter, but he managed to get the words out, so all and all, he’s proud of himself. Especially when Keith follows the order without hesitation, kneeling down between his spread thighs. Lance tries to swallow, but his mouth his dry. He feels like he might be on the precipice of actually hyperventilating. But then Keith’s hands are at the waistband of his Saveelian pants, undoing the fabric enough to get to Lance’s boxers underneath.

Time slows to a crawl the moment Keith reaches inside and pulls out his cock.

Just that single touch has Lance shuddering, a small whine crawling up the back of his throat. Keith’s hand closes in a loose fist around him, stroking, and Lance knows he’s not gonna last long. It feels too good, wrong in an intoxicating and uncontrollable way, but it’s also not what he wants. So he clears his throat, grabbing Keith’s attention.

“Do it, um…” He tries not to be embarrassed; surely this Keith won’t make fun of him like the real one would. But the words are stuck behind his teeth, too vulgar and dirty and unused. Can he really say that? Should he? The hand around his cock starts stroking again and Lance’s resolve crumbles. “Your mouth,” he chokes out. “I want-”

Thankfully, he doesn’t need to fumble through the end of that sentence to get what he’s asking for.

There’s really no way to prepare for the earth shattering, mind numbing sensation of your first blow job. Hot, wet, enough suction to make Lance’s eyes roll back, it’s the best thing he’s ever experienced. It’s right up there with flying Blue and kicking Galra ass and beating Keith at something and- Speaking of.

Lance forces himself to open his eyes, look down, and the sight alone is enough to make him toe the line of coming completely undone. It’s straight out of his dirtiest wet dream, Keith’s hair falling into his eyes, lips stretched around Lance’s cock like they were made for the job. He doesn’t really give much thought as to why he does it, but Lance reaches out to brush Keith’s hair out of his face. The motion causes Keith to glance up at him and Lance has to hold back a moan. It’s too much to process. Keith, on his knees, sucking Lance’s dick like a champ, and looking at him like- Like he-

“F-Fuck…” Lance gasps, the hand still in Keith’s hair gripping tight at the dark strands out of reflex. He’s close, so fucking close already, right on the edge of a cliff just waiting to fall off. Keith’s tongue does something against the underside of his shaft and Lance whimpers, the sound probably embarrassing. Not that he cares about anything but Keith’s mouth right now. His other hand finds its own place in Keith’s hair, not pulling or anything, just both hands holding on for dear life.

He’s not sure if it’s a moan or an intentional hum, but Keith makes a noise that literally vibrates around his cock, Lance’s toes digging into the soles of his boots. He doesn’t mean to, but he bucks up at the sensation, forcing his dick further into Keith’s mouth on accident. He tries to pull back a little, an apology already on his lips, but then, Keith reaches up and places his hands over Lance’s, giving a slight push, mimicking the motion.

Lance’s heart jumps into his throat at the implication. It’s just too fucking surreal. Won’t he hurt him? But as if to prove exactly how serious he’s being about the offer, Keith chooses that moment to lower himself all the way to the base of Lance’s cock, tip of his nose touching his pelvis. Something in Lance snaps.

“Holy shit, holy _shit_ , fuck, Keith, _Keith_ -!” Lance babbles, thrusting into Keith’s mouth probably a little harder than could possibly be comfortable. But Keith just moans around him, saliva escaping to fall in single lines down his chin. His eyes are glazed over, but they don’t stop watching him, watching as Lance completely falls apart.

His orgasm rips through him without warning, stronger than any he’s ever given himself. It burns deep and bright and he curls in on himself with the force of it, bucking up one last time into Keith’s mouth before letting go. Keith swallows around him, one of his hands wrapped loosely around the base of his shaft as Keith sucks him through it. Lance shivers against the aftershocks and just floats for a second.

When he returns to his body, Lance feels drained, spent, like coming down from the high of a battle. Everything is a little warm, a little tingly. He feels really, really good to be honest. Until he looks between his legs and sees Keith staring up at him, wiping away a stripe of creamy white that’s fallen past his swollen lips.

Then he just feels sick to his stomach.

“I’m sorry, I…” Lance starts, his voice shaky and a little rough around the edges. “If I hurt you, I mean. I wasn’t-”

“You were perfect, Lance,” Keith says, and despite how guilty and stupid and _wrong_ he feels, the praise settles like a comforting weight across his shoulders.

It takes him a pathetically long time to realize that he’s the only one that got off, Keith already getting back to his feet. Lance reaches out.

“Do you want me to-?”

“That won’t be necessary,” Keith says, bending down to pick up his robe and slip it on. Once he’s clothed again, he walks back up to Lance and places a hand against his cheek. “This experience was about you. I hope it was enjoyable.” Lance can’t really do more than nod dumbly in response, watching as Keith pulls away and heads towards the door. “You may take as long as you need to collect yourself.”

And then, just like that, Keith- No. Not Keith. He was never Keith. Not really. The Saveelian vanishes from the room without another word, leaving Lance alone, dick out, and with a barrage of uncomfortable thoughts to drown in.

He doesn’t know how long he stays in that room. Probably long enough to be a nuisance. But eventually, he forces himself to his feet, tucks his dick back in his pants, and heads out to the market.

The sun is almost set by the time Lance spots Hunk amidst the dwindling crowd. His stomach is still twisting, heart still clenching uncomfortably with every beat, but he puts on a smile and waves to get Hunk’s attention. No one has to know. No one ever has to know. Especially not-

“So how was the whore house?” Keith’s voice appears as if summoned, and Lance nearly jumps out of his skin. It’s too soon, too fresh. He can still hear that same voice in his head, saying things like, _What do you want to do to me?_ Or, _I’ll make it good for you, Lance_. So, though he hates himself with every fiber of his being, he can’t help the way his dick twitches in his pants at the sound of it.

No one can know. Keith can never find out. But how the fuck is he supposed to face him after that?

It probably takes him long enough to seem suspicious, or at the very least uncomfortably awkward, before Lance finally turns around. “I um-”

It helps that he’s not naked. Helps a lot really. Though the Saveelian attire is still a bit too sexy for Lance to deal with right now. The persistent frown Keith always wears is a nice deterrent too, but his face… Lance isn’t sure he’s ever going to be able to look at Keith’s face again without thinking of him on his knees, of his lips stretched around his dick, and he feels guilty, guilty, _guilty_. But he can also feel himself getting hard the longer he looks. Stupid traitorous body.

So he looks away, literally turning his back to Keith and taking solace in the fact that, at that moment, Coran and Hunk were approaching from the other direction.

Hunk is looking at him in equal parts relief and worry, if that’s possible, and Coran’s expression is something Lance can’t seem to define. Before they have the chance to speak, however, Lance clears his throat and does it for them.

“I uh,” he chuckles, allows it to come out as self deprecating as it dares to be. They can read into it how they want. “I didn’t go.” 

Of the faces he’s willing to look at, the surprise is obvious, probably because of how long he was gone. But then, Hunk is smiling and shaking his head, and Lance can hear Keith scoff from behind him, so it’s alright. Better that they believe he chickened out than- Well. Then what really happened.

“So where were you?” Keith asks, and Lance feels a cold, anxious shiver run up his spine. It’s muscle memory, reflexive, for him to look over at Keith when baited, but he shouldn’t have. He really shouldn’t have. Because Keith is looking all amused, arms crossed over his chest, and he’s smirking at him, smirking that same god damn smirk that Lance now associates with hand jobs and-

“I was just trying to get away from your stupid, annoying face for a while, alright?” 

The words bite harsh, no humor behind them at all. He has no idea why he said it; he just panicked. But they’re out now, and Keith is staring at him in shock, completely taken aback, and Lance is officially a horrible excuse for a human being.

In fact, everyone is looking at him with various stunned expressions, not quite sure what to say to that. Even Keith is oddly silent, and he would be the first to jump in with his own insults, his own argument. But that wasn’t like their normal banter, and the whole group must feel it.

The desire to get out of here, to get back to the castle and away from everyone, becomes nearly incapacitating.

“I’m just… gonna head back,” Lance says, keeping his eyes pinned to the weird, pinkish sand of the market floor. 

Hunk, kind and patient and glorious Hunk, speaks up first. “We were all thinking of heading back soon anyway, if you want to-”

Lance forces out another smile, looking up with a wink that he hopes doesn’t come off as forced as it feels. “I’m actually really digging Saveelia. Breathable atmosphere, cool looking scenery. You guys take the pod. I think walking back might be nice.”

“Oh. Okay,” Hunk nods, not exactly placated, but getting there. “Want some company?”

Lance considers it, but not for long. What he’s done is still too vibrant behind his eyes, still too loud in his ears. If Hunk comes along, Lance will talk, he’ll confide, and this secret can’t get out. Not even to his best friend.

“Thanks, buddy,” Lance smiles, giving Hunk one firm pat on the arm. “But I think I’ll pass. Gotta have some me time after all the flirting I did at the market.” His stomach flips, something sour lingering on the back of his tongue, like under ripened strawberries. Or Fruity Pebbles in milk that’s turned. He’s pretty sure he’s going to be sick. “So, uh. Yeah. S-See you guys back there!” 

And, sparing one last glance in each of their directions, Lance turns on his heel and books it. Though not before catching Keith’s affronted glare, Hunk’s concerned smile, and Coran’s disturbingly knowing frown. He’ll think about it later, once he’s cleared his head.

Except, being alone with his thoughts on the walk back definitely does not help. All he can manage to do is repeat what happened at the brothel over and over, struggling between feeling insurmountably guilty and frustratingly turned on. He’d wanted to be back to himself by the time he reached the Castle, able to look everyone in the eye and maybe even apologize to Keith for insulting him earlier. But once he’s back on board, all he can manage to do is drag his feet to his room, lock the door, and plop himself onto his bed. He smothers himself with Altean fabric and fluffy pillows until the only thing that exists is warm, suffocating darkness and cold, unforgiving shame.

Despite the occasional knocks, Hunk being at least two of them, Lance doesn’t come out. He has no idea how long he stays cooped up, but it’s definitely long enough for everyone to notice. Which isn’t exactly the best way to alleviate any suspicion. If he wants this secret to fade into oblivion where it belongs, he’s going to have to get his shit together before somebody too smart and too curious for their own good (it’ll definitely be Pidge, and she’s _impossible_ to lie to) starts playing Sherlock Holmes on his attitude.

That settles it then. Time for Operation: Pretend It Never Happened.

Starting with the possible incineration of his Saveelian clothes. Honestly, if he never sees them again, it’ll be too soon. He can’t even look at them off of his body without thinking about Keith’s hands slowly untangling the complicated waistband. 

Since an incinerator is out of the question for now, however, Lance shoves them as far into the corner of his closet as possible; out of sight, out of mind. Then, he throws on his normal clothes, his only pair left from Earth, and walks out of his room before he can convince himself to live out the rest of his days underneath an Altean comforter.

Judging by the lights along the ship walls (timed to dim and brighten with the average Earthling circadian rhythm) it’s coming up on the end of dinner. He briefly considers going to the training deck instead, let off some steam while everyone eats; he’s not hungry anyway. But after a quick mental debate, he decides to rip off the proverbial band aid and tackle this operation head on. If he can put on a good enough show, maybe he’ll be able to trick himself into believing it too. The theory is horribly naïve, incredibly foolish, and definitely unlikely, but it’s all he’s got, the only thing keeping him walking in the direction of the dining hall.

It doesn’t quite get him through the door though.

No matter how many times he psyches himself up, repeats mantras like, _Nothing happened. You can do this. Don’t think about it. Smile, smile, smile_ , he stays frozen in place, one hand clutched in a fist at his side while the other hovers over the sensor that opens the door.

After about his fifth time nearly abandoning ship, however, the doors slide open, Pidge nearly colliding into him upon her exit. She stumbles back, registering Lance’s presence, and then frowns, looking at him in that way Pidge does when she’s analyzing a particularly tricky algorithm or a possible new tech-inspired outfit for her lion.

“What’s up?” She tries to say, not so much out of general curiosity as underlining accusation. But be it luckily or regretfully, Allura spots him before Lance gets a chance to fumble for an answer.

“Lance!” She calls out to him from inside the dining hall. He wills himself to stay still, to not run away like he so desperately wants to, and just like that, she’s hovering in his personal space bedecked in a look of impressive concern. “Coran says you’ve been unwell since your time in Qaan. Are you alright?”

Lance can’t help the way he flinches away from the notion. It definitely doesn’t help his cause, but the fact that Coran noticed something, the fact that Lance had already failed at Operation: Pretend It Didn’t Happen when he hadn’t even initiated it yet, definitely throws a wrench in his attempt at a nonchalant attitude.

“Oh yeah,” he wills himself to say anyway, scratching at the back of his neck in what he hopes looks more like embarrassment than guilt. “I ate something from a vender in Qaan that my stomach just wasn’t jiving with. That’s all.”

“We don’t know how most alien food will react to our systems,” Shiro latches onto his excuse, also stepping into Lance’s view. He’s got that stern look on his face, the Dad look, and Lance feels a bit like he’s being crowded. “You should be more careful.”

“Yeah, I uh. Will do,” Lance mumbles, looking at his feet. “I just wanted to let you guys know that I’m heading to bed early, so.”

“Alright,” Allura accepts his escape attempt easily, though not without exception. “Get some rest. Training starts at the normal hour tomorrow.”

“You got it, Princess.” Lance tries to wink in her direction but it falls flat, almost humiliatingly so. When he turns to leave, they let him, and for a second he thinks he might be able to regroup, take tonight to gather his thoughts in preparation for Operation: Pretend It Didn’t Happen – The Less Embarrassing Sequel.

But then, “Hey, Lance!”

That same partly terrifying, partly arousing shiver runs down Lance’s spine at the sound of Keith’s voice. Lance can’t exactly pretend he didn’t hear it, can’t just run away while everyone’s watching without seeming more suspicious than he probably already does. So he stops, waiting for Keith to walk from the dining room to the hallway.

“What?” Lance bites out, aiming for casual and totally missing the mark. He sounds angry, which doesn’t help the look of poorly contained aggravation on Keith’s face.

“You’re acting weird,” he throws out, blunt and tactless as ever, and Lance instantly goes on the defensive. He can’t help it.

“Well you’re weird in general, so-”

“What the hell is your problem?”

“I don’t have a problem. Do you have a problem?”

Keith looks about ready to punch him, and with Lance’s defenses raised as they are, part of him hopes he does. Maybe then they can take out their aggression without having to broach the subject of it. But instead, all Keith does is take a breath, steadies himself, and reaches out for Lance’s arm.

“Look. I just wanted to see if you were al-”

At the feel of Keith’s hand on his arm, something in Lance snaps, sense memory taking over for a split second and forcing him to reimagine exactly where those hands were not a few hours ago. Which Lance can’t handle right now, not in front of everybody, not when his nerves are so frayed. So he does what he does best: he royally fucks up.

Without warning, completely cutting Keith off, Lance smacks his hand away. Hard. 

“Back off!” He hears himself shout like an out of body experience.

Silence.

Everyone is looking at him, all various levels of stunned. But Keith? Keith looks like Lance just stabbed him in the stomach. Confused, shocked, angry, hurt. So much for avoiding suspicion.

“Just leave me alone,” Lance grits out, because he doesn’t know how to _just go_. And this time, when he turns his back on them, heads off the way he came, no one calls out to him. And no one follows.

The next day, after a tense and awkward morning training, Allura informs them of a new reconnaissance project she plans to put into effect. Individual missions to gather more data on various galactic sectors with long dead distress beacons. The plan is to collect intel on the specific magnitude of the Galra’s influence prior to attacking. Lance jumps at the chance. Not so much to benefit the mission as to get the fuck out of dodge.

He needs to get away from the Castle, away from everyone inside of it, away from Keith. Even without forming Voltron, he could tell that his headspace was affecting the team. If he can’t get his act together, he knows it’ll end up endangering everyone’s life during an actual battle. But what he did in Qaan, the realizations that came with it, it all just keeps digging deeper and deeper under his skin. 

It’s made him notice things like how fluidly Keith moves when he fights, or how hot his concentration face is, or how being in close proximity to him now makes Lance sweat, makes his breath catch and blood rush to places it shouldn’t rush in public. It’s made him volatile in attempt to cover up the desire to kiss him. It’s made him nasty and rude in attempt to pretend like Lance doesn’t want Keith to kiss him back, to get on his knees, to let Lance ruin him, fuck him until he’s a whimpering mess, and maybe even fuck Lance in return, take him apart piece by piece until there’s nothing left.

So time away, far away, barreling through space behind Blue’s controls by himself for a bit, is definitely necessary. Before things get any worse.

The sector Allura assigns him is just outside of Savalia’s quadrant. In fact, Lance could probably fly Blue there and back in no more than a couple of minutes. It’s that, more than anything, that makes him itch with the idea of going back, Lance swears. It’s proximity. A magnetic pull laced with morbid curiosity, like returning to the scene of a crime. He doesn’t really know what he’ll do if he does, but it’s like trying to swim against an opposing current; even after he’s completed his recon mission, he can’t seem to shake its pull.

Blue must be able to sense his struggle, his ripping apart in two separate directions, because a soothing energy radiates between his fingers, Blue’s main screen flickering to life with a blinking ticker. It depicts the time they’re expected back at the Castle, the numbers counting down at a slightly slower speed than the Earthling second.

Well then. If she thinks it’s alright for him to go, then maybe he should.

“You’re right, Girl.” Lance sniffs, turning her around. “We’ve got time.”

To reiterate, he has absolutely no idea what he’s going to do when he gets there. But he just… He feels like he needs to go back. He feels like there’s unfinished business there, something he needs to understand.

He leaves Blue in the same open valley that they’d parked the Castle, her force field going up the moment his pod has left her open mouth. It feels like a risky move, just leaving one of the Voltron lions out in the open like this, but he’ll be back soon. And no one will be able to get to her with her defenses up anyway, right?

So, as he changes out of his flight suit and makes his way back to the market, he tries not to think about how foolish he’s being. Tries not to think of a lot of things.

The market isn’t as busy this time, some of the shops even covered with tarps, their owners elsewhere. Maybe they’d visited on an alien Saturday, and Lance was unfortunate enough to choose their Saveelian Monday to return. His stomach twists at the possibility of the brothel being closed. To come all this way, at the risk of being caught by Allura or the rest of the team, and then to have it be closed? That would be just his luck. But as he approaches the familiar, wooden door, he almost starts hoping that it is. No one home, sucks to be Lance, he goes back to the Castle no worse for wear. He’ll be right back to where he was, trying desperately to salvage Operation: Pretend It Never Happened, but he’s survived worse. He’ll make it work.

Unfortunately (or fortunately?), the door swings open at almost the exact moment he sets foot on the stoop.

“Are you lost, young human?” The Saveelian man coos, leaning against the doorframe in a way that can only be classified as seductive. Lance feels his pulse quicken, and for the umpteenth time, he wonders what exactly he’s doing back here.

Maybe if he talked to the girl from before. Maybe she’d be able to help him figure out how to stop the constant horny whirring of his mind.

“I’m looking for-” he starts, but promptly screeches to a halt. God, he’s such a fuckboy. He didn’t even ask her name, did he? He’d spent the whole time calling her Keith. “Um, there was someone I… saw. A few days ago? She uh-”

“I believe he’s looking for me,” the Saveelian in question appears in the doorway, gently pushing the man aside. Her eyes are on Lance in an instant, the shifting kaleidoscope of patterns seeming to scan his face for a moment before blue skin crinkles at the corners in amusement. When she smiles at him, it makes him feel a bit like he’s on display, like he’s been caught in the act of something shameful. Like stealing. Or returning to an alien brothel where the prostitute can alter herself to look like someone’s deeply buried, strongest sexual fantasy. Or you know, whatever.

She leads Lance inside, down the hall, and back to the room where all of this began, where the first moment of his current downward spiral took place.

“What’s your name?” Lance asks the second they’re inside the room, maybe to prolong the inevitable, but mostly just to make himself feel better about not having asked the first time. As she closes the door, she glances over her shoulder, still smiling at him, still making him feel very small and more than a little bit guilty.

“Does my name matter so much to you?” She asks, the patterns in her eyes seeming to glisten, shining in a way that make them look like they’re laughing at him. Then she adds, “I believe you preferred calling me… What was his name? Keith?” And Lance decides that even death would be better than this.

“I don’t know why I’m here,” he frowns, staring at the dark red carpet beneath his feet. There’s a swirling pattern in blue that breaks it up; he didn’t notice that before. “I shouldn’t even be here, but I just…” His nails are biting into the palms of his hands with how hard he’s got them balled into fists. 

“Lance,” she says, and when he looks up, she’s right in front of him again, grabbing one of his clenched fists and forcing him to relax his fingers. “As I told you before, your experiences here are meant to be enlightening.”

“Yeah, well,” Lance laughs, a bitter, forced sound. “Last time was a little too enlightening.”

“You are not the first to leave here troubled by new understanding,” she goes on, her voice low and soothing. Lance can feel himself relaxing a bit beneath it, beneath the way the fingers of one of her left hands starts massaging into his palm. “And you are not the first to return.”

“I don’t know why though,” Lance frowns. “Why I… returned.” He feels like one of his younger siblings asking why this, why that, with no hope for an actual answer, but he doesn’t know what else to say. The Saveelian seems unfazed, though, simply continuing her ministrations, eyes dragging up his chest and back to his face.

“I think you know why,” she says, one of her free hands slowly making its way up Lance’s arm, under the edge of his sleeve. Lance jerks away.

“That’s not… I’m not looking for a _repeat performance_ or anything!” He squawks, scrambling backwards until the backs of his knees hit the bed. “I just wanted- I mean, I don’t know what I wanted, but it wasn’t that. I didn’t come here for that.”

And god dammit if the ways she’s smiling doesn’t add another layer of embarrassing heat to the already burning blush that’s settled beneath his cheeks. “Are you sure?” She asks, adding insult to injury.

So Lance opens his mouth to say, “Of course! Obviously! Why would I ever want to relive that?” But nothing comes out. Because, as frustrated as he’s been, as guilty and mortified as he’s felt, he can’t bring himself to deny it. It’s all he’s thought about, if he’s being honest. It’s the reason why he’s been biting Keith’s head off, the reason he’s been avoiding him almost as much as he’s been watching him too closely. It’s the reason he came back hoping for answers or antidotes or _something_. Maybe something to wipe the image of Keith on his knees right out of his head.

The Saveelian is staring at him like she knows, like she’s waiting for him to give her the go ahead. But before he does, he needs to say it out loud, needs to admit it to her and himself first.

“These other people,” Lance starts, the words jumbled in his brain. It takes far too long for him to pull them together into something that makes sense. “The people who come back. Why do they? Come back, I mean.”

For a second, the Saveelian looks surprised by the question, but then her smile returns and she takes a step forward. “Some return as an escape, a way of living out their fantasies away from the reality that is their life.” That sounds about right. Jazz standard brothel fair, Lance assumes. But she keeps going. “Others return as a way to reconnect with lost love.” Which… isn’t what Lance was expecting. It actually sounds kind of beautiful. Sad, definitely. But also beautiful. 

“Most, however,” The Saveelian pulls his attention back to her, and when she reaches out, he wills himself not to flinch. She places one of her right hands against his face, the other wrapping loosely around the side of his neck. “Most return to us because they can not return to someone else.” Lance’s heart squeezes, his eyes falling somewhere in the vicinity of the Saveelian’s stomach.

Is that it then? Is that why he’s here? He’s in too far to keep lying to himself, but the truth is still hard to swallow.

One of the Saveelian’s hands falls away, the light touch against his neck lingering beneath the slow, warm honey drip of the Transfer. The haziness settles in and vanishes much quicker this time, and when Lance looks up, it’s to find Keith looking back at him.

The truth may be hard to swallow, but it’s also impossible to deny.

“I don’t know what keeps you from this one, Lance,” The Saveelian says in Keith’s voice, speaking with Keith’s mouth, using Keith’s tongue to wet Keith’s lips. “But in here, you can have him. Isn’t that what you want? To have me?”

And that’s… That’s not fair. How’s he supposed to say no when Keith is staring at him like that? Like he’s the only one in the world worth looking at. Keith’s eyes are dark and hooded, his smirk mischievous and fond and holding that hint of familiar smugness, like he knows he’s already won. Which he has, hasn’t he? Because now that Lance is staring at him, knowing that all it would take is one touch to have him again, Lance can’t stop himself.

He came back because he can’t have _his_ Keith. The _real_ Keith. The Keith he really wants, the Keith he’s wanted for a long time.

But he can have this one.

Before he can convince himself of what a stupid fucking mistake he’s making, Lance steps forward into Keith’s personal space and wraps an arm around his waist. With the new proximity, Keith has to look up slightly to keep eye contact, humming in knowing anticipation.

“You’re not him,” Lance mumbles, not so much to convince himself, but more so to remind himself not to forget. Even though it would be so easy. To just give in to it and pretend.

Keith tilts his head to the side and snakes his arms around Lance’s neck. “I may not be your Keith,” he says, one hand sliding up into Lance’s hair, pulling him down. “But I’m the closest thing you’ve got.”

This time when they kiss, it’s brutal.

Lance doesn’t know where to touch first, every inch of him literally aching to pull Keith in deeper, have him be closer, closer, as close as he can get. Eventually he settles for placing both hands to either side of Keith’s face, tilting him at a better angle to devour him. He delves his tongue deep into Keith’s mouth, a pang of sharp arousal wracking through him at the way Keith shudders and moans around it.

The kiss is a mess, too wet and dirty to probably even be called a kiss, but it sets Lance’s veins on fire, makes him simultaneously drunk with power and weak in the knees. That strawberry, Fruity Pebble flavor coats his tongue, and when Keith sucks Lance’s bottom lip between his teeth, Lance growls. His hands travel down to the hem of the draping Saveelian shirt and frantically attempt to remove it. Which is harder than it looks, apparently.

As much as the loss is near painful, Lance has to break the kiss, pulling back to get a better look at the intricate weaving of the dark indigo top. He has no idea where to start, and it must show on his face, because Keith smirks, reaching behind his neck to pull at a loop of fabric.

As if unraveling, the top loosens and falls from his shoulders without a sound, pooling at his feet and leaving Keith naked from the waist up. It makes Lance’s hands itch to reach out and touch the pale, soft looking skin, to let his fingers trail over collarbone and chest and nipples. So he does.

Keith’s eyes follow his movement as Lance fans both hands out across his chest, dragging the tips of his fingers along sensitive skin. A soft inhale is all he gets in return, and that isn’t enough. So Lance lets his thumb circle one of Keith’s nipples until it’s peaked and straining, Keith shuddering harder this time before letting out a soft gasp. Which is better, but still not what he’s looking for. Lance wants to hear him beg and moan and preferably cry out his name.

Because he can have that here. So he will. If he’s going to do this, live in this mistake of a fantasy, he’s going to milk it for everything it’s worth.

A part of him still feels conflicted, guilty, embarrassed. Of course he does. But another part of him has done this already, made the mistake already. A part of him has already resigned himself to future self-hatred, future awkwardness, future regret. So this time, when he takes a step back and speaks, his voice is strained but steady.

“Take off your pants and get on the bed,” he orders. And then, in nervous response to the uncomfortably hollow sound of his own voice, he adds, “If you want to, I mean.”

That smirk, the one that’s so very Keith it makes Lance’s heart flip, inches its way back into his lips. Even as he slowly undoes his bottoms, stepping out of them with a grace that only comes with practice, Keith purrs, “I want whatever you want, Lance. You know that.”

It catches him off guard, the groan that escapes him at those words. Whatever he wants. Lance knows what he wants now, knows it’s nothing he’s going to get here, but he also knows a good method for distracting himself from that fact. Eyes trail over Keith’s naked form, his cock already straining prettily within the loose clasp of his own hand.

“I wanna-” Lance pauses in his involuntary step forward, awash with fresh guilt and the shy discomfort of barely used vulgarity. “I wanna fuck you. Is that-? Can I?”

Instead of a verbal response, Keith covers the distance between them and hums his approval against Lance’s lips. Lance melts into it, only jumping a little when Keith grabs Lance’s hand and leads it to his cock, both of them offering slow strokes along the hot velvet skin. Then, much too quickly, Keith pulls away again, cock slipping from Lance’s grasp as he walks past him.

There’s only one way to describe what he does, really, as Keith climbs onto the bed and leans forward, resting his head on his elbows. He puts himself on display.

It’s the most erotic thing Lance has ever seen, like Keith is literally waiting for Lance to mount him, to pound him into the mattress. He even shifts to glance over his shoulder seductively, spreading his knees further apart, and Lance almost has a heart attack.

If he was inexperienced before, he’s _definitely_ out of his element now. Not that he hasn’t read stuff and watched plenty, but it’s not something he’s had any hands on practice with yet. 

But well. No time like the present.

Almost absentmindedly, Lance pulls his shirt over his head, dropping it to the floor and out of sight. When he drags a hand along the curve of Keith’s back, ridges of his spine bumping beneath his fingers, Keith visibly shivers, goosebumps raising along unblemished skin. There’s no real reason for it besides instinct, but Lance leans in to place a kiss against the small of his back, smiling when Keith’s next breath comes out short. He looks absolutely beautiful like this, all spread out and waiting for Lance to do something about it, to take him apart, make him come all over himself. He doesn’t think he’ll ever get tired of seeing it.

A half-formed thought breaks through his admiration, something from a video he’d sneakily watched at the Garrison when Hunk was visiting family and their shared dorm was empty.

“Do you have any lube? Or, like, lotion or something?”

With what looks like a substantial amount of effort, Keith moves an arm to gesture towards the desk next to the bed. Sure enough, there’s a jar of some sort of oil next to the weird, curvy looking lamp currently spilling ambient light into the room. Swallowing back some of that resurfacing nervousness, Lance dips his fingers in it and carefully draws a line down the cleft of Keith’s ass. 

Keith twitches when Lance drags along his hole, so he circles his finger around the sensitive skin there, rubbing the oil around a few times. When Lance dips his finger in just barely, Keith _mewls_. Lance watches in amazement as he buries his head in his arms for a second, almost as if catching his breath. Now _that’s_ the kind of reaction he was looking for.

Just for safety’s sake, Lance coats his fingers in a little more oil before going again, this time pushing his finger in to the first knuckle. He may not have much experience with other guys, or sex with other people in general, but this? This, Lance has done to himself on many an occasion. He knows to go slow, he knows to stretch himself nice and good before sticking anything bigger than a few fingers up there.

And he knows what to look for.

As Keith’s shoulders relax a bit, shaking some from each stuttering breath, Lance pushes in to the last knuckle. Keith bucks against him, groan catching at the back of his throat, a groan which shatters into a surprised yell when Lance curls his finger. He barely rubs against Keith’s prostate, but the reaction is unbelievable, even that little bit leaving Keith a writing mess. So Lance doesn’t hesitate to pull out just enough to add a second finger. Then moments later, a third.

“Lance, _Lance_ …” Keith moans, hands fisted in the sheets by his head. Lance’s mouth has long since gone dry, hanging open and slack as he watches Keith fall apart beneath his touch. “Lance, please. Please fuck me, I’m- _Ah_! I-I’m ready, _please_!” He sounds so desperate and wrecked, lines straight out of a porno, and Lance is pretty sure this is the first time he’s been hard enough that even taking off his pants has been painful. But he struggles through it, undoing his jeans and carefully pulling himself out of his boxers.

That simple touch alone leaves him trembling, anticipation somehow making him even harder. “Okay,” Lance breathes, lining himself up with Keith’s entrance, the oil still on his hands making the glide smooth and wet. “Okay, just-” He tries to be careful, tries to take his time, but the moment the head of Lance’s cock passes the tight ring of muscle, he seems to be sucked in, sinking deeper and deeper into Keith until he’s bottomed out. When he looks down, they’re flush together, every inch of him buried in the tight, slick heat of Keith’s ass.

“Fuck…” Lance wheezes, tightening his grip on Keith’s hips just to steady himself. Keith is shaking, whining low in his throat, and Lance has to swallow multiple times before he can get the words out. “A-Are… Are you okay?”

Keith doesn’t respond, his whole body tense. Lance can feel his thighs shaking where they’re connected, his hips jumping beneath Lance’s none too gentle grip. Even through the fog of his own arousal, Lance starts to worry and pull back, a motion that wracks through him with sensation.

“I’m sorry if I… I didn’t me to-” he starts to babble hoarsely, but like a flash, Keith’s hand whips back to grip tightly at his wrist, keeping him in place. When he looks over his shoulder again, Keith’s eyes sear into Lance like a hot knife, fileting him open and melting his insides. Lance is pretty sure he nearly comes.

“Please,” Keith groans, and Lance has never heard him sound like this before, so broken and needy. It makes something hot and unforgiving tighten in his chest as something hotter and more persistent tightens behind his balls. Keith pulls Lance’s wrist in his direction, far enough that Lance ends up draping himself over Keith’s back. He stops when Lance’s hand is at his lips, kissing his palm once before opening up to suck two of Lance’s fingers into his mouth. The feel of Keith’s tongue, wet and warm and slipping over his skin, shatters any resolve he has left.

Lance pulls his hips back and thrusts, Keith crying out around his fingers. When he does it again, he goes deeper, slower, feeling every spark of pleasure up his spine. Already dizzy with want, he knows he’s not going to last long, but he has enough wherewithal to pull his fingers from Keith’s mouth, wet with his spit, and wrap them around his dick on the next thrust.

Keith’s back arches at the added sensation, a sound leaving his throat that has Lance thrusting harder, pounding into Keith with a desperate sense of almost, almost, _almost_.

“C-Close, I’m- _Keith_ , Keith I’m close, I- God,” Lance chokes out, beyond stopping the frantic pace of his thrusts. “Please tell me you’re close too. I want you to come for me, Keith. I wanna feel you come, Keith. Come on, buddy, please.” He knows he’s rambling, the words spilling out of his mouth like a busted tap, but he can’t be the only one who comes this time. It’ll break him. “Fuck, Keith, _fuck_ you feel so good, just tell me you’re close, tell me you’re-”

A particularly sharp thrust must nail right into Keith’s prostate, because Keith flails, Lance’s name tumbling from his lips on a literal shout. “Right there, right _there_ , don’t- _Ah_ Lance!” Keith whimpers, hand scrambling back to Lance’s wrist again, holding on for dear life as Lance follows his orders.

Keeping one hand wrapped around Keith’s length, the other gripped tight at his hip, Lance drills into Keith’s prostate as consistently as he can. He’s too out of his mind with his own desire to properly stroke him, but the double sensation seems to be enough. Keith matches his rhythm thrust for thrust and cries out, spilling over Lance’s hand and clenching too tight, too perfect around him at the same time.

He feels it all the way down to his toes, an embarrassing noise escaping him as he thrusts in once, twice more, before falling head first into his own orgasm. It rushes through him like a lightning strike, fills him with blissful tension, before leaving him in gloriously painful spurts. He’s not sure, but he thinks it’s the longest he’s ever come, his whole body twitching with aftershocks as he slowly softens and pulls out.

Keith promptly collapses, rolling over on to his back. His chest is heaving, each panting breath blowing past bruised lips. The hair not currently sticking to his forehead fans out around the pillows. He’s a mess, covered in come and sweat and marks Lance has accidentally left on the pale canvas of his skin. 

And he looks beautiful, even like this. Especially like this. 

“I think I love you,” Lance whispers, a voice that’s not his own echoed from a far and fractured distance. The moment the sound solidifies, however, everything slots back into grueling focus, time speeding up to ground him once again in this awful, sickening excuse for a reality. If it’s possible, he thinks he feels himself visibly pale. “I mean him! I’m-” 

Suddenly, as if struck by some sort of vertigo, Lance feels his knees give, everything tilting sideways. He catches himself on the edge of the bed, but the dizziness persists. He can’t quite seem to catch his breath. When he runs a hand over his face, it’s shaking severely enough to accidentally poke him in the eye.

_Dear god._

“I’m in love with him.” Lance looks up at the Saveelian wearing Keith’s face and swears for a second that he might actually pass out. “I am, aren’t I?”

Keith sits himself up, still a bit out of breath, but mostly just sporting a look of confused concern. Eventually, that same collected smile returns, a bit out of place amidst the flush and the sex hair. “The Transfer showed signs of attraction that were far from purely sexual, yes.”

Hearing those words, in that tone of voice that Keith would never use, makes Lance’s stomach roll. Now more than ever. “Can… Can you do me a favor and just-” He reaches down to pull up his pants, frantically attempting to tuck himself away. Considering what they’ve just done, he feels oddly vulnerable. “Can you not look like him for a second?”

Keith chuckles softly under his breath and closes his eyes, everything seeming to melt from his appearance like a layer of candle wax. It takes no more than a second for cerulean to bleed into his pale skin like running ink, for his shoulders to shift into place amidst a second set of appendages. For eyes to flicker open filled with kaleidoscope patters instead of grey-violet. It’s both relieving and unnerving. But he can’t talk about this with Keith looking at him, even if he isn’t really there.

Now if only he knew where to start.

It’s not an easy realization to swallow at the best of times. But realizing he’s in love with his self-proclaimed rival only after having sex with an alien prostitute look-alike? That’s like the universe spitting in his face and then hoping one day he’ll realize that it’s actually magic spit that will give him super powers. Or something. If he’d never done this, never tried to prove to Keith that he could, how long would it have taken for him to come to this revelation? Maybe never? And now that he knows, he’s ruined it by making the basis of the revelation something he can never, _never_ tell Keith about. Or anyone else for that matter.

Slowly, Lance lowers himself down on the edge of the bed, giving the Saveelian some space. Protocol probably says he should pack up and go, the alien woman surely doesn’t want to play therapist too. But right, she’s all he’s got.

“Those other people,” he starts, carefully working together exactly how he wants to say this. “Are any of them, the ones who come back… Do they come back because they love someone in- in secret? Like, you said some people come back to you because they can’t go back to someone else. Is it ever… because they love someone they can’t have? Like someone who can’t know?”

“I think you know the answer to that question,” she smiles softly, the, _You’re here, aren’t you?_ left unspoken. And she’s right, of course, but he just needs to say it out loud, hear it in words that aren’t spinning out of control inside his head.

“Well,” Lance trudges on. “How do they stop? Coming back, I mean. How do they make it better?”

She raises an eyebrow at him, and he knows what she’s going to say before she even opens her mouth. “Many eventually give in to their desire and express their true feelings to the object of their Transfer. Others simply… move on.”

Neither of those sound like viable answers though.

“I can’t tell him,” Lance shakes his head, hands on his knees gripping tightly at the fabric of his jeans. “He can’t know. Not now.”

“Hm,” The Saveelian hums, inching off the bed and walking towards where her clothes still lay puddled on the floor. “That’s a shame.”

“He wouldn’t feel the same anyway,” Lance sighs, releasing his death grip on his jeans to instead let his head fall into the cup of his hands. “I’m pretty sure Keith hates me.”

“The Transfer with you has taught me much about the human psyche,” she says as she redresses. “And though I am merely a temporary perspective, I do believe it’s safe to assume that human minds and hearts are complicated.”

“Tell me about it,” Lance huffs out a self-deprecating chuckle. But the Saveelian only clicks her tongue, grabbing his attention. She’s already dressed again and walking towards him, reaching out her two right hands to brush comfortingly down his arm.

“What I mean to say is, perhaps you know this Keith about as well as he knows you.” One of her hands touches lightly at his jaw while the other smoothes out his shirt, an almost motherly gesture. “My experiences with you and others like you are stationary, outside of the path you travel. The relationships forged on these travels may bring you to me, but in the end, I will not follow.”

Briefly, Lance wonders what it might feel like to lose this, to be given a taste of warmth and fire only to have it be snuffed out. Expectedly, it leaves him cold and exhausted and sick to his stomach. Especially when he considers that they might be leaving this galactic sector soon, possibly never to return. The only thing left of his moments with Keith, as fake and full of twisted fantasy as they were, would be his guilty memories and wet dreams.

Still, “I can’t tell him,” Lance repeats, and when the Saveelian drops her hands, Lance gets the same sinking feeling he used to get when he failed in the simulator.

“I know, Lance,” she says, matter-of-fact. “Most rarely can.” Then, with a shift in tone that leaves Lance reeling, she holds one of her hands out in front of his face. “Now, as for payment.”

Lance blanches, patting around his jean pockets automatically even though he knows for a fact that he has no Saveelian currency on hand. In his defense, he hadn’t even considered coming back at all until the last minute, not that it’s much of an excuse.

She must see the truth in his face, because he barely gets out a fumbled, “I don’t, uh-” before she’s shaking her head at him and sighing. There’s still a smile on her face, though, so that’s good.

Until she smiles through the words, “I’ll allow you to be in my debt for now, but you must promise to bring what you owe me the next time you return.”

Next time. He hadn’t intended for there to _be_ a Next Time.

But then again, he hadn’t intended for there to be a This Time either. So he agrees, telling himself that if he gets the chance to come back, it’ll be to pay her what he’s due and then leave. Not that he believes it. He tells himself that surely they’ll be leaving Saveelia’s galactic sector before he’s given the opportunity. Not that he actually wants that. It makes him feel like a walking contradiction, mental scales tipping back and forth like a seesaw, the pin on his moral compass spinning like a top.

He barely even registers that Blue is safe and waiting for him, barely even notices the flight back to the Castle, or that he’s about ten minutes shy of their original meet up time. When asked what took him so long, he just tells them he was being thorough. When Allura gathers the data and determines this sector worth staying in a bit longer (more information worth collecting and the threat of more Galra invasions to prevent), Lance pretends he doesn’t feel a twinge of relief.

And when he takes another recon mission the next day, double the necessary amount of Saveelian currency in his pocket, he tells himself that this is the last time. Makes a silent promise that he won’t keep torturing himself like this.

He makes that promise the next time too. And the time after that.


	2. Part Two: Keith

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _“Keith, stop.” Shiro aims for his wrist, but Keith is too quick, pulling away from his touch and practically sprinting down the hall in the direction Lance has disappeared. For his own sanity, he needs to know. He’s not just curious where Lance has been going, he needs to know what Lance is running away from._
> 
> _He needs to know if Lance is running away from_ him.
> 
> A.k.a. That time Keith stopped putting up with Lance's shit and finally found out where he'd been going.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All of the Thank You's for such a great response to this fic, my dudes. Seriously, I'm so glad it's been well received. It was a blast to write and even more of a blast to see your reactions to it. Here's hoping Keith's chapter offers some much needed... release.
> 
> Once more, this fic (and this chapter specifically) is made possible by the lovely kali_asleep. It would still be sitting at 10k words away from the finish line if it weren't for you.
> 
> This one's a long one, kiddos. So buckle up.

After many a night trying to pinpoint the beginning, the moment that started whatever downward spiral of awkwardness and poorly concealed animosity they’ve been on, Keith finally settles on one phrase. One harshly voiced sentence on an alien planet that knocked Keith on his ridiculously clothed, metaphorical ass.

_“I was just trying to get away from your stupid, annoying face for a while, alright?”_

He’d sounded so serious, like being around Keith had become physically painful somehow. It was a left hook to the jaw, a knee to the solar plexus. It ripped the rug right out from underneath him and left him struggling to regain composure. Not that he should have been surprised. 

Lance and he have never really gotten along, not exactly. Most of their conversations are in argument form, they insult each other on the daily, and when it comes to competitions, they’re usually the first to challenge the other. But despite all that, Keith thought they’d grown cordial at the very least, like partners, if not friends. At one point, he’d even been fool enough to believe they might be moving towards something else, something other. Like Lance might have recognized Keith’s growing feelings and reciprocated in his own way. But even if he’d missed the mark on all of that, he would have never thought Lance actually _hated_ him.

Now, he’s not so sure.

For days after their visit to Saveelia, Lance seems hell bent on being as far from Keith as he possibly can, and when he’s not avoiding him like the plague, he’s flinching away from proximity, biting his head off, all but shouting at Keith to leave him alone. It’s almost as if Lance blames him for something, like Keith has insurmountably wronged him somehow, but whenever he tries to get a reason out of the bastard, Lance hightails it. Or worse.

“Would you stop pestering me?” Lance huffs one day during training. They’ve been sparring for a few minutes straight now, and both of them are winded but unwilling to back down, still pushing with everything they’ve got. “I told you, I’m fine.”

“Like hell you are,” Keith grits out, bayard morphing into his sword in the same fluid motion as a swing towards Lances newly materialized shield. “Whatever’s going on inside your head is fucking with our sync. We barely managed to form Voltron today.” His words are broken up by panting breaths, but the venom beneath them is strong. Honestly, he’s tired of Lance’s shit. If he doesn’t want to talk, Keith is gonna fucking make him.

“So I had a bad brain day,” Lance seethes right back. “Get off my case already.”

“Not if it’s going to get us all killed.”

“Maybe it was you, asshole.” Lance blocks another swing, the serious look on his face when he dodges almost distracting, and then he plants his boot at the center of Keith’s chest, knocking him back almost a foot. “Maybe it was _your_ head hole that got in the way of forming Voltron today, ever think of that? Course not. You’re always just so quick to blame _me_.”

“Because it usually _is_ you!” Keith charges at him, swinging for his open side, but Lance evades him at the last second, bayard transforming and locking on. Keith hears the sound of the gun firing on a half second delay, misses the visual of it entirely. He feels it though. The blast just barely glances off his side, but it burns, the force of the blast mottled with the spike of pain literally knocking him off his feet.

“Keith!” Lance shouts, voice filled to the brim with worry, but the pain is all encompassing, blinding, filling every inch of his focus until the edges of his consciousness start going fuzzy. He manages to blink open one eye before he passes out. 

The last thing he sees is Lance’s terrified face, and then his back as he runs away.

Keith wakes up in the healing pod a couple of seconds before the glass dematerializes. When he stumbles out, Shiro and Allura are talking with Coran in a corner while Pidge and Hunk examine one of the unused pods, probably working out a theory Keith has no interest in. Lance is nowhere to be found. 

Everyone looks up as Keith steps forward and stretches out the kinks in his back. His side twinges, but otherwise feels fine. Better than. Still, he kinda wants to get out of the pod suit and take a look, see if he’s got a scar. Healing pods don’t heal scars, he remembers Allura saying.

“Oh good,” Allura sighs, smiling softly as she approaches. “You emerged earlier than expected. That means the damage must not have been as severe as anticipated.”

Keith nods, not quite sure if he has anything to add to that. Shiro must sense his unease, walking up to place a hand on his shoulder, a gesture of comfort that Keith is simultaneously thankful for and a bit embarrassed by.

“How are you feeling?” He asks, and despite every other possible thing he could say, Keith’s brain filters only three words to his mouth in response.

“Lance shot me.”

What his mouth doesn’t say is, _Why? Why did he do that? What did I do wrong? I thought we’d gotten better, not worse. Why does he hate me when I still-? When all I want is-?_

The silence that follows those words, those thoughts, is heavy, some eyes staring at him in pity, while others look pointedly away. He bristles a bit, clenching his fists at his sides to keep himself from verbally attacking; of course they knew, of course. Lance was a coward to shoot him and a coward to run away, but he’s not the kind of guy who’d just leave Keith to die. And anyone on this ship would know where a wound like his had come from, even if Lance had chosen not to tell them.

Unsurprisingly, Hunk is the first one to come to Lance’s defense; albeit half-heartedly, which Keith appreciates. “I’m sure it was an accident?” He tries, and Keith just scoffs.

“Honestly, at this point, I’m not so sure.”

“Keith.” It’s Shiro’s warning voice, that low and authoritative one that usually makes Keith want to obey. But right now, the phantom pain of Lance’s gunshot still lingering in his senses, Keith decides he’s pissed off enough not to.

“What, Shiro?” He spits, ripping himself out from underneath Shiro’s grip. “Like you guys haven’t noticed? I don’t know what the hell I did, but if he’s not yelling at me, he’s avoiding me, and now this?” Keith looks around the room, captures everybody’s gaze for a second before smiling grimly. “Notice how the only one who’s not here is the one who pulled the trigger.”

He storms out of the healing bay before anyone else has a chance to speak. He doesn’t want words of comfort or reasonings on Lance’s behalf. All he wants is to punch Lance across the face.

Except, when he finally finds the guy, he’s two seconds too late. From the sealed entrance to the hangar, Keith makes it just in time to watch Lance eject himself and a pod into space. There are no directions plugged into any of their systems and no one knows where he might have gone. Though it’s probably possible to track him, everyone tells Keith to give the guy his space. Maybe he’s just taking the pod for a spin, letting off some steam. Surely he’s just as shaken about the whole thing as Keith is. But Keith doesn’t buy it. And he doesn’t intend to let Lance off the hook that easily either.

Lance doesn’t come back until well past dinner, though, and when they spot each other in the hall, the only way to describe the look on his face is sheer, unadulterated panic. He nearly slams his own nose into the wall in attempt to escape, and Keith is too stunned by the display to stop him.

Later that night, when Keith stumbles upon the sound of Shiro’s voice, words admonishing and very clearly directed at Lance, Keith doesn’t stick around to hear the Blue Paladin’s poorly constructed excuses.

Interactions like the night before continue well through the week, Lance’s mood ranging from salty to skittish to downright nasty, throwing verbal abuse at Keith with no prompting on many an occasion. Amidst all of this unusual behavior, Keith begins to notice every single time Lance jumps into a pod to escape. Like he’s running away from something.

Or towards it.

It takes a particularly bad interaction, however, before Keith finally decides to take action.

“This is _exactly_ what I told you would happen!” Keith shouts at Lance’s back the moment they’ve returned to the castle. Everyone is safe, no Lion injured, but no Voltron formed either, and Keith knows exactly who to blame. “Don’t you walk away from me, Lance! _Not_ now!”

“What do you want from me?” Lance whirls on him, voice just as loud and just as bursting with rage, but also harboring something more desperate, something on the verge of panic. When he rips off his helmet and drops it to the floor, his eyes are wild. “I don’t know what I did wrong! I don’t know why we couldn’t form Voltron, alright? I tried my best!”

“Did you?” Keith hisses, tugging his own helmet off and chucking it to the ground with a loud clang of metal against alien alloy. “Did you really _try your best_?”

That brings Lance up short, the fury in his eyes freezing over, going deadly cold. “Excuse me?”

Despite the shiver that runs down Keith’s spine at the look, he crowds into Lance’s personal space, digging his finger into the hard chest plate of Lance’s space suit. “If your best is just going to get us all killed, then what the fuck are you even doing on this team, Lance?” He keeps pushing until Lance’s back is forced flush against the wall, his eyes wide. “If that was your best, then what good are you?”

For a split second, the look of hurt and shame that flashes across Lance’s face is enough for Keith to regret his words, enough for something acrid to simmer to life at the pit of his stomach. He knows that wasn’t Lance’s best, he’s seen battles where Lance has fought harder and stronger than anyone, saved all their asses even. The adrenaline of barely getting out alive, of attempting to form Voltron only to have to flee, just wound itself tighter and tighter beneath Keith’s ribs until it exploded in hateful words he doesn’t actually mean.

But they’ve been said, and just as quickly as they appear, the expressions on Lance’s face morph away from hurt and shame and back to cold, unshakable fury. “Oh yeah?” He growls low through gritted teeth, grabbing Keith by the wrist and forcibly removing that hand from his chest plate. “Well when you find someone else stupid enough to take my place, let me know.”

It takes until this moment for the rest of the Paladins to reach their hangar entrance, Allura rushing towards them from where she’s been stationed on the main deck. He knows it’s probably for the best, especially with everyone listening, that Keith let Lance scamper off like the coward he is, like he’s the bigger person and not a petulant child that’s fuming inside.

But Keith isn’t having it. “So what then? You gonna jump in your pod and run off again? Does being away from the Castle help you forget what a giant fuckup you are?”

The words seem to act like a paralytic, Lance’s whole body freezing mid stride as Keith’s words register. He doesn’t turn around though, and he doesn’t offer any response, argument or otherwise. Instead, he just raises his shoulders to his ears, body wrought with tension, and he picks up the pace until he’s around the corner.

But Keith knows he’s going to the hangar, has connected every one of his little trips to a failure or a mistake or a fight, and normally he lets him go. This time, however. This time, Keith isn’t standing by and doing nothing.

“Keith, stop.” Shiro aims for his wrist, but Keith is too quick, pulling away from his touch and practically sprinting down the hall in the direction Lance has disappeared. For his own sanity, he needs to know. He’s not just curious where Lance has been going, he needs to know what Lance is running away from.

He needs to know if Lance is running away from _him_.

Stealth is something Keith took to with frightening ease. After getting booted from the Garrison, anything he needed, from intel to food, had to be stolen away in complete and total secrecy. He was never caught, not once. In fact, no one ever saw him so much as come and go. The only instance where someone even came close was when Lance crashed his attempt to rescue Shiro. He never told Keith how he’d known where they’d be, and Keith eventually decided not to ask. Regardless, he wouldn’t see Keith coming this time.

After making sure Lance has completely evacuated the hangar, Keith climbs into a pod of his own, easily locking on the faint signal Lance has left behind. There’s no programmed destination, just a trail for Keith to follow, but he does so with as much distance between them as he can afford.

After about a ten minute flight, the pod’s sensors pick up a nearby planet. Saveelia. He doesn’t even need to be locked on Lance’s trail to know that’s where he’s landing. Keith follows suit, giving Lance ample time to touch down before Keith parks his own pod just outside of Qaan’s marketplace, keeping Lance in his sights.

Lance moves through the bustling environment with the ease of familiarity, making it obvious where every one of his escape acts have led. Some of the Saveelian merchants even nod as he passes, though Lance, in his defense, looks more uncomfortable about that than proud. 

Keith keeps his distance, just enough space between them to easily shadow Lance but not enough to lose him in the crowd. Lance dips past vendors and patrons alike, not stopping until he’s nestled himself deep into the market’s vast layout, his destination a looming building with a large, ornate wooden door. He doesn’t even have to knock before it swings wide, a Saveelian woman beckoning him inside.

Keith books it towards the building, jamming his foot in the door before it has the chance to close. Without a sound, he inches his way in and lets it click softly closed behind him. He looks up just in time to catch the overlapping fabrics of a Saveelian outfit turning the corner, Lance presumably in tow.

Before he can sneak after them, however, a pleased hum echoes at his back, catching him off guard. On reflex, he spins himself around, hand automatically reaching for his bayard, but he’s merely met with an indifferent-looking Saveelian man, not a threat. Though, the way the Saveelian looks him up and down in blatant amusement feels like a warning in and of itself. In fact, out of defensive impulse, Keith very nearly opens his mouth to ask what he thinks he’s looking at, but the Saveelian beats him to it.

“It took you a while, didn’t it?” He purrs, licking his lips as his eyes, in their strange, shifting patterns, lock onto Keith’s gaze. He looks completely at ease, but yet still oddly intimidating. So Keith straightens his back, using the extra inch or two he’s got on the Saveelian to look his nose down at him, his own eyes set in an unwavering glare.

“Excuse me?”

“You’d best not keep him waiting, human,” The Saveelian goes on without explanation, turning away from Keith like he’s suddenly grown bored. Keith tries to ask him what he means, who he means, but he just chuckles under his breath and says, “I’m sure he’ll be pleasantly surprised,” before vanishing down another hall.

Keith stares at the space he’s left behind for a couple of seconds before considering it not worth his time. He’s already lost sight of Lance, and in a building this large, it could mean he’s also lost his one chance at figuring out what Lance has been up to. So he sets aside the strange encounter for the time being and heads around the corner.

This hallway is filled with a multitude of large doors, each one identical, and each one apparently soundproof. As quiet as he tries to be, even pressing his ear against some of the doors proves fruitless. If there are things going on in the rooms beyond, he can’t hear a word of it.

At one point, a door opens, a tall, partially-humanoid creature walking into the hall before Keith has a chance to properly hide. He situates himself behind another corner, sure he’s been caught out, but the alien pays him little to no mind, proceeding to say something to the Saveelian that follows him out before handing him what looks to be multiple bills of Saveelian currency.

And Keith suddenly feels very, very stupid.

The events of their previous visit come rushing back; the flyer, their argument, Lance going to the brothel just to prove a point. Later, when they’d all met back up, Lance had seemed weird, defensive, but he’d said he hadn’t gone, and Keith had believed him. If anything, he’d simply written off the weird mood as wounded pride. But then Lance had snapped at him, acted even weirder back at the Castle later that night. And things have been tense every since.

How could Keith have been so blind?

Whether Lance chose to stay of his own volition or got conned into it for the sake of his money, Lance definitely did something here that day. And whatever it was must have left a lasting impact. Enough of one to keep Lance coming back every time things get dicey. But for what? Stress relief? Why can’t the guy just jerk off in his bedroom like a normal twenty year old?

And now he’s thinking about Lance jerking off. Which leads him to think about Lance doing… whatever it is he’s doing behind one of these doors.

Keith feels his pulse pick up, feels a rather unfortunate interest being taken somewhere in a specific vicinity of his pants. But now that he’s thinking about it, he can’t quite seem to stop. What does Lance like? He’s pretty sure the Saveelian that went with him was female, or whatever binary they go by here that appears female to him. Does he like her on her knees? Does he prefer it if she rides him? Keith can’t help imagining Lance, all naked, tan skin, bouncing a pretty Saveelian girl on his cock, moaning into her neck, gripping her hips to keep the rhythm. 

And if halfway through that mental image, it becomes Keith in his lap, moaning and rolling his hips, well, he can’t be blamed for stray attraction crawling to the surface when he’s literally standing in a brothel hallway. Nothing stands between him and the living fantasy except one of these god damned doors.

If only he knew which one.

Not that he wants to spy on him or anything. He just… God. What is he _doing_?

Briefly, he considers leaving, going back to his pod and letting Lance have this for a little while longer. He’ll confront him about it when he gets back to the Castle. They’ll figure out what’s been bothering him, what it has to do with all of this, and they’ll go back to normal. But before he gets the chance to act on his momentary graciousness, another of the hallway doors creaks open.

Though Keith can’t deny that it’s difficult for him to tell the Saveelian’s apart, he’s pretty sure it’s the one who met Lance at the door. For a single, hysterical moment, Keith thinks that Lance’s stamina must be utter shit, but the thought fizzles and dies very quickly under the sudden weight of something much, much more distracting.

As if parts of her visage have begun to peel away piece by piece, Keith watches the Saveelian transform before his eyes. At first, as the jigsaw puzzle of a new anatomy begins to fall into place, Keith can’t quite process what he’s seeing, but as the transformation grows clearer, it becomes impossible not to.

Where two seconds ago stood a scantily clad Saveelian woman, now there stands a scantily clad carbon copy of Keith. It’s a remarkably accurate clone too, somehow, like looking at his reflection in the mirror. Only backwards? And not facing in his direction at all. It’s beyond surreal, bordering on unnerving, and the more he looks, the more he feels like he might be suffering from vertigo.

It doesn’t make sense. For a brief second, Keith considers the fact that this is all a dream. That he’s still in the healing pod from when Lance shot him a few days ago, that what he’s seeing right now is just a twisted fabrication of his own subconscious brought on by inhaling whatever Altean gasses are meant to keep him in hypersleep. What other reason could there be? Keith watches as the clone of himself runs its fingers through his hair, tying it back into a low ponytail. It then proceeds to run its hands down its neck, its chest, and Keith swears he feels a psychosomatic shiver follow the same path against his skin.

In fact, he’s so consumed by the sight of it, that he has absolutely no time to react at all when it looks in his direction, Keith’s own eyes freezing him in place. He can’t look away, fight or flight reflexes blaring, but his clone only smirks, something unspoken and indefinable on its face, before it walks back into the room like nothing had happened.

It takes Keith’s heart slowing back to normal, as well as a stern convincing that he’s not dreaming, drugged, or dead, before he realizes that Clone Keith left the door ajar. Not by much, not enough to be noticeable, but enough to hear snippets of what’s going on inside. And enough that, if he were to push it open just slightly, he’d be able to see at least a portion of the room beyond. Not that he wants to.

Except… He kinda does? In fact, he’s pretty sure he’s never been more curious about anything in his life? He knows he should leave. He probably doesn’t even _want_ to know how Lance, an Alien Brothel, and a Carbon Copy Keith might correlate, but he can’t seem to listen to reason on this one. Even though he’s technically not involved at all, he’s too involved now. He needs to see this through.

Which is how he ends up creepily squatting by the door, waiting for something inside to alert him to what’s going on. A noise, a conversation, the sound of fighting even? Leave it to Lance to seek out shapeshifting aliens as a way of getting a one up on his “rival.”

He doesn’t have to wait long, a soft sound echoing through the crack in the door no more than a few moments later. It’s hard to determine, like a sigh or a gasp, and too soft to tell who it’s coming from. So Keith inches a bit closer, careful not to nudge the door open any further. 

Not that he needs to. The next sound he hears is pretty undeniable.

Lance’s choked off curse is rough and low, not like frustration or anger, but more like- Wait. The moan that follows next is purely erotic, the sound stabbing into Keith’s gut in a spike of unexpected arousal. There’s rustling. Fabric, maybe? And then a rhythm and a gasp and- Oh.

Keith’s stomach drops and his pulse skyrockets as his mind slowly begins to weave a dangerously vivid picture of what he must be hearing. Another moan, this time in a voice he recognizes as he his own but not, followed by Lance’s heavy breathing, another soft curse, and despite the overwhelming impossibility of what’s happening, Keith feels himself getting hard.

He doesn’t know what else he could have possibly been expecting. This is a brothel for fuck’s sake. He just… His mind seemed unwilling to connect the dots, unwilling to comprehend, to believe, that Lance might- That he was coming here to-

“F-Fuck, _Keith_ …” Lance groans, the noises of their movement becoming more pronounced, and Keith feels a shiver run down his spine, his cock twitching in his suit at the sound of his name in that voice. In Lance’s sex voice. Holy _shit_. He doesn’t know whether to be pissed off or turned on or confused. Maybe all three. Well, all three in, like, a 75/15/15 split, his arousal only growing the more he listens.

He needs to see. Suddenly, definitively, he realizes that he needs to put an image to the sounds, that he’ll go crazy if he doesn’t. Perhaps a part of him is still in denial, holding to the slight, slight hope that the filthy, lewd mental images he’s creating can’t possibly be fact. Though perhaps another more masochistic part of him just wants the visual, wants more than what his imagination can provide.

So, as quietly as possible, and still crouched low to the ground, Keith carefully inches open the door just enough to see the fabric draped around the room, the window on the far wall, the edge of the bed, and-

And Lance. A completely naked, completely consumed Lance buried to the hilt in the pale curve of Clone Keith’s equally naked ass. His thrusts are slow but deep, one of the clone’s legs slung over a tan shoulder, and when Lance pulls out almost completely, pausing to catch his breath, Keith’s heart basically stops. He looks beautiful like this, sweat glistening on his brow and chest, wiry muscles in his arms and legs standing defined with the stress of holding himself back. Lance’s lips are wet and parted, eyes heavy and hooded and looking at the body beneath him like he wants to devour it. Then he thrusts back in, the clone cries out in blissful agony, and Keith has to look away, throwing a hand over his mouth to keep from making a noise of his own.

He shouldn’t have looked. It was a mistake. All of this was a mistake.

The need to be quiet is only just overwhelmed by his sudden fervent desire to leave, to get far away from that sight, from those sounds now growing in volume, from the wanton moans and Lance calling out his name over and over again. Keith can’t help the groan that escapes him as he scrambles to his feet, the shift in motion offering a painful reminder of just how hard he is in his suit. It’s unbearable, the conflicting emotions and sensations almost making him dizzy. 

But he ignores them for now, his one objective to get back to his pod, back to the Castle, and pretend he never found out any of it.

“Leaving so soon?” The Saveelian man from earlier inches into his line of sight before Keith can make it to the door. And perhaps his nerves are just frayed enough, his confused anger just potent enough, that he can blame reflex and shock for his next actions.

Without stopping his stride, Keith stomps up to the Saveelian man, grabs him by the collar, and slams him into the door, holding him taut a good inch off the ground. Even without irises, Keith can see his eyes go wide, fear and surprise universal expressions.

“Did you know?” Keith growls, remembering the cryptic welcome he’d received. The Saveelian audibly swallows, bringing all four hands up to where Keith’s fists are currently tangled in his shirt.

“That you were the inspiration for the returning human’s Transfer? Of course. The moment we saw you, everyone knew.”

“Transfer?” Keith tightens his grip, frowning at the unfamiliar term. “Explain.”

“Yes, yes. Alright,” The Saveelian man struggles a bit against Keith’s grip, patting a bit frantically at his hands. “Could you put me down first, please? This is uncomfortable.”

Briefly, Keith considers denying him, possibly even raising him higher, pushing him even more uncomfortably against the hard wood of the door. But in the end, information wins out against misdirected rage, and Keith lets him drop back to the floor.

After regaining his footing and wiping a hand down the front of his shirt in obvious annoyance, the Saveelian finally continues. “The Transfer is a method we use to tap into the life energies of our patrons, specifically those linked to intense erotic and romantic desires. This energy allows us to take the shape of the being at the center of that desire, thus offering the opportunity for a more intense and often times enlightening experience.”

It’s a lot of information to swallow, and Keith is pretty sure he understand the gist of the explanation, but it seems so outlandish, so farfetched, that his brain isn’t quite able to accept it. Taking his silence as confusion, the Saveelian boils it down to a single phrase, one that strikes Keith hard and fast right between his ribs.

“It appears you are the source and foundation of the little human’s strongest sexual fantasy.”

Which pushes the final boundary of just way more information than he can handle right now.

“Move,” Keith hisses, the Saveelian stepping out of his way as if avoiding attack. Keith barely gives him a second look as he throws the doors open and practically sprints back through the market, away from those words and Lance’s voice and everything he just witnessed. Even when he’s securely back in his pod, breaking through the planet’s thin atmosphere and back into space, it’s all he can hear, the image of Lance fucking a carbon copy of himself burned forever behind his eyes.

He doesn’t go back to the Castle. He can’t, not yet. So he sets the autopilot to orbit around Saveelia’s farthest moon, just until he can get his head on straight.

It’s not an easy task.

Keith leans back in the pilot’s chair and wills himself to think clearly, but despite his confusion, his frustration, his lowly simmering rage, all his pathetic brain seems able to come back to is that he’s still hard. And that, regardless of the situation… The really fucked up and twisted situation… Lance had looked fucking _hot_ bending someone over like that.

Closing his eyes and running a hand down his face, Keith caves, allows himself a few seconds just to dwell on it. It’s counter-productive, he knows, but he’s not exactly thinking with his right head at the moment. So he gives in to his pathetic temptation and sinks back into the memory.

Only this time, it’s not a carbon copy, it’s him. It’s Keith folded in half with one leg propped up on Lance’s shoulder. It’s Keith crying out in ecstasy as Lance thrusts deeper and deeper, probably nailing his prostate. It’s Keith moaning and gripping the bed sheets and crying out Lance’s name. And when Lance gasps out his, that choked off, “ _God, fuck, Keith_ ,” that he heard so clearly, it’s to the real Keith, _his_ Keith, not some fucking copy.

Keith barely even registers his hands working at the seams of his space suit, adjusting and removing until he’s managed to pull himself out. He’s already dripping, painfully hard, and the touch of his hand alone is enough to leave Keith panting. His rhythm starts off slow, thumb circling his slit where precum continues to pool, and his mind goes fuzzy, lost in an arousal fueled spiral.

If that’s what Lance had wanted, all he would have had to do was ask, Keith thinks with a huff. He’s been right there the whole time, not pining or anything, but willing. Definitely willing. He’s never outwardly admitted his attraction to Lance, in fact he wouldn’t be caught dead, but it’s been there. It’s been there for a while, and surely if Lance had bothered to look, he would have seen.

If he’d bothered to fucking ask, it could have been Keith getting him off, not some whore on an alien planet wearing Keith’s face.

Keith pictures Lance, beyond the slight profile he’d been able to see from the door, with mouth slack and panting, eyes shut tight in pleasure. He imagines pulling Lance into a rough, messy kiss, bringing their bodies tighter together, burying Lance’s cock deeper, and a coil burns taut just below his navel. He can see it so clearly now, what it would look like, what it would be like, what he wants it to sound like, feel like, taste like. He wants Lance to ruin him. He wants to ruin Lance. He wants to pull him into the bed, flip him over, and ride him until he’s begging and gasping Keith’s name. And meaning it, knowing that it’s him.

The image is clear as day, now that he has these new memories for reference. It’s almost as if he can perfectly picture Lance’s smug face crumbling, can almost feel Lance’s hands bruising his hips, he can almost taste Lance’s mouth against his as they kiss with too much tongue, too much teeth. Is Lance a horrible kisser? Does the clone version of him know first hand?

A bubbling spill of jealousy mixes in with his steadily peaking arousal. Keith’s stroking has gotten faster and his heart beats overtime; he’s close, so fucking close.

Would Lance be selfish? Or would he hold himself back, wait for Keith to come first? Would he stroke Keith through it, Lance’s long, talented fingers wrapping around his cock and milking him dry as he comes? Would he pull out and come all over Keith’s chest? His face?

“ _Sh-Shit!_ ” Keith chokes, orgasm crashing through him without warning. He throws his head back with the force of it, leg spasming hard enough to kick the bottom of the console, and he swears he sees a flash of white behind his eyelids. It’s hot, burning, like a shock of electricity to his system, and when the tension finally drains out of him, he feels like he’s fallen from a great height, adrenaline slowly bleeding out of his limbs.

He glances down to where his hand is still wrapped loosely around himself, the fabric of his gloves causing little ripples of pleasing aftershocks with each movement. His hand and part of the dashboard are covered in sticky ropes of cum, and as it cools, so does his mind. Both of which erring on the side disgusting.

With a flash of bitter regret and frustration, Keith looks around the pod, reaching for something on the side panel that resembles a piece of cloth. Probably a space blanket. He wipes off his hand, the dash, and then tucks himself away again, suddenly feeling dirty. Mentally and physically. Not so much for what he’s done; he’d be lying if he said he hadn’t masturbated to thoughts of Lance in the past. No, this griminess delves deeper, revolving around one very important detail, a detail easily overlooked in the throes of arousal.

Why _did_ Lance choose an alien prostitute over him? If he was just going to ask it to wear Keith’s face anyway, than why not just ask the real one? If Keith is the “foundation of his strongest sexual fantasy” then why go looking for it somewhere else? Unless.

Unless Lance doesn’t actually want _him_. His body, maybe, but not _Keith_. 

Was he not enough? Too much? Was the idea of him all well and good, but not something Lance would actually want to have? Like wanting a piece of cake but not being willing to buy the whole thing?

Oh god. Now he’s comparing himself to cake.

Keith runs a hand over his face, groan escaping between his fingers. Was there something wrong with him? Was he not good enough as is? Was the Saveelian giving him a version of Keith he’d prefer, but not one that Keith could actually be? Like a mail-order, perfectly catered version of Keith that is everything Lance has ever wanted, just, you know, not actually him?

If that’s the case, then what about him is so awful? What about him is so unappealing that he’d rather- That he wouldn’t even _try_ to-

“Ugh, this is so _stupid!_ ” Keith growls, slamming his fist down onto the dash. His own voice is loud in the enclosed cockpit, ringing in his ears. It was stupid of him to come here, he decides again, putting the coordinates in for the castle and returning the pod to manual.

He’d almost preferred it if Lance hated him rather than… whatever the hell this is.

Almost everyone is waiting for him by the time he gets back, half of them wondering why he was gone so long, the other half quite openly wondering if he’d found Lance and killed him. Keith answers their questions with the fewest words possible, all the while heading past them and towards the living quarters. He plans to take a long enough shower that the whole castle runs out of hot water.

Whether they recognize his obvious exhaustion or simply give up on trying to grill him for information, eventually the following crowd tapers off. All except for one.

“You alright, buddy?” Hunk continues to follow him a little ways further, albeit hesitantly.

Keith doesn’t answer, which is probably answer enough, but he honestly can’t say what he is right now.

“It’s okay if you’re not,” Hunk goes on, because he’s a good person, possibly even a friend, and as much as Keith wants to condemn the guy for it, it’s a trait he’s always envied in Hunk; the constant and unwavering desire to care. “It’s just… You and Lance have been at it recently, you know? Like bad. And I wanted to see if there was something I can do to help.”

Which is sweet, but completely off the mark. This is so far beyond teammates and friends, beyond Voltron and the future of the universe. This is a clusterfuck of sex and confusion and something definitely bordering on emotional masochism. Which means it’s something Hunk, and everyone else for that matter, can neither help them with nor know about. Ever.

“You’re good, Hunk,” Keith says, though it’s half-hearted enough for even Keith to hear it. Still, he glances at Hunk’s ever kind, ever caring face, and offers his least forced smile. “Lance is just… I mean, I’m probably… It’ll work itself out.”

Then, before Keith can do or say something else stupid, like roll his eyes at himself, he all but scurries away from Hunk, turning a corner towards the showers and booking it. It’s not until he’s under the hot spray that his muscles finally start to relax, the water pressure beating down on his shoulders in a way that gradually begins to chip away at leftover tension.

It takes some serious convincing, and he’s still not entirely sure he believes himself, but eventually Keith decides that there’s nothing wrong with him. If anything, there’s something wrong with Lance for putting them in this position in the first place. And what about Keith’s privacy, huh? It might not be the real Keith that he’s shoving his dick into, but considering how accurate the copy, it might as well be. So to do that without Keith’s permission is like… Like sneaking into Keith’s room to secretly watch him jerk off every night. Yeah. Lance is the one in the wrong here. Definitely.

That doesn’t necessarily soften the blow all that much, though.

It actually surprises him how much it stings. Keith always assumed himself to be better than this, better than the jealousy and the disappointment, better than the constant silent wanting. He’s over it, over _him_ , has been for a while, or at least has done his damnedest to make it seem that way. But what happened on Saveelia has opened old wounds like a rusty blade to a faded scar. He never stopped wanting Lance, not really. And he never stopped hoping either; he just conned himself into making do, into settling with the hand he’s been dealt. But he’s always secretly hoped Lance would come around.

And now that he’s seen what he’s seen, now that he’s come so close only to stand just outside the door and watch, unable to go in… It’s beyond painful. It’s shattering, all consuming. He feels swept up in the tide of it, like it’s the only thing he’ll be able to think of for the rest of his life.

He finishes up the rest of his shower quickly, suddenly overwhelmed with the bone deep desire to just go to bed, to sleep away the convoluted train wreck that’s been this day. He leaves his suit in a laundry bin by the door and wraps his towel loosely around his hips, already dragging his feet. 

Which is why he nearly stumbles over himself when the bathroom door slides open, Lance coming to a surprised halt barely inches away. He’s already out of his uniform, back in his standard Earth clothes, and he’s eyeing Keith up and down, mostly stunned but also something else, something Keith recognizes from Saveelia. Keith tightens his grip on his towel, offering Lance the same visual treatment, suddenly dangerously aware of the knowledge that he knows exactly what Lance looks like underneath those clothes.

As if sensing his train of thought, the energy between them shifts, morphing into something taut and electric. It makes Keith feel like he’s in Red, taking a nosedive towards solid ground from very, very high up.

Keith swallows, licks his lips. Lance watches each movement as if riveted, eyes unblinking and still almost comically wide.

And then Keith opens his mouth and fucking ruins it.

“Lance…” He hears himself whisper, voice alien and broken and hoarse, and the sound of it shatters whatever spell they’re under like he’d taken to it with an assault rifle. Lance goes pale, expression crumbling into something very nearly resembling horror. When he takes a step away, the motion is shaky and disjointed, like he doesn’t have full control of his legs.

“Lance, wait I-” Keith tries to salvage whatever connection they’d been drifting on only seconds ago, but the edge to his voice, coupled with his mildly desperate step forward, has Lance backing away, turning tail, and taking off in the opposite direction. With a twisting in his gut, Keith watches him practically sprint around the corner. The sigh that claws its way up his throat is dry and bitter, and it takes everything his has not to punch the wall in frustration.

He thought he was better than this.

The thought follows him all the way back to his room, all the way into his bed where collapses, naked and drained and ready to write this nightmare of a day off as unsalvageable. As exhausted he is, though, sleep just will not come. He tosses and turns, stares at the ceiling, but while his body might be dead tired, his brain simply will not stop spinning.

It spins with images he refuses to think about, even in the dark and nonjudgmental quiet of his own room. It spins with doubts and concerns that eat at his pride and fester beneath his skin. It spins with long suppressed want, a yearning he’d given up on out of self preservation, out of acceptance that he just hadn’t been something Lance was looking for.

But now. But now, everything is different. Now he doesn’t know what Lance wants, doesn’t know where he fits in with all of it anyway. Hell, Keith doesn’t even know what he wants anymore.

That’s a lie.

He knows exactly what he wants. The problem is, he’s just not sure if he can have it. If it were so attainable, then they wouldn’t be in this position in the first place, would they? If it were something still within his reach, it would have happened differently, right?

Maybe Lance would have danced around him until he said something stupid and they both realized their attraction was mutual. Maybe Keith would have finally cracked under the pressure and confessed, drunk on the adrenaline of surviving another day on this suicide mission they now call their lives. Or maybe it would have been slow and organic, casual touches growing more intimate, shared words holding more meaning over time. Maybe it would have been special, natural.

Not this… this whatever they’re currently drowning in, beaten and battered and currently too far away from the other to be of any help.

Eventually, Keith throws himself out of bed and yanks on a pair of sweats, a tank top. He’s going to run through training simulations until he passes out.

He makes it about halfway there before he hears the distant sound of hushed conversation. It’s difficult to tell what time it is (the relativity of time is pretty skewed up in space to begin with) but based off the dimness of the light in the hallway, Keith assumes it’s pretty late. Allura has the ship on a sort of cycle, lights brightening and dimming to follow the vague sense of an Earthling circadian rhythm, not that any of them but Shiro really take it to heart.

Still, Keith is surprised to find anyone else awake, let alone creepily wandering the halls like he is. It almost makes him want to turn right around and head back to his room; the only thing he wants less right now than a night staring sleeplessly at the ceiling, is social interaction. But as he gets closer to the source, the voices becoming more distinct and recognizable, Keith’s curiosity wins out.

What the hell sort of secret conversation could Lance and Coran possibly need to have at this hour?

It’s a bit like de-ja-vu, hiding behind a corner, out of sight, listening in on something he definitely knows he shouldn’t. But old habits die hard, and once Keith has made a decision, even if it’s a History Doomed To Repeat Itself type of most likely bad decision, he doesn’t back down. Which is why he settles in, silently accepts that he’s a terrible person, and tries to make sense of the conversation already in progress.

Coran’s voice is soft, placating. Lance’s is strained.

“Coran,” he groans, spitting out the name as if it’s not the first time, as if he’s exasperated its use already. “I know that you’re trying to help, but you don’t get it. This isn’t something that you can reconcile away with a paladin lunch and a motivating speech, alright? So just… Just let me go to bed.”

“This isn’t merely about you, Lance,” Coran seems almost reluctant to say, voice filled with enough pity to make Keith’s skin crawl for him. “Your headspace is one of five necessary-”

“I know that!” Lance cuts him off with a shout, and in the brief silence that follows, Keith swears he can feel the awkward stares. He can easily picture Lance’s possible flinch away from his own outburst, the tension in the air practically bleeding around the corner and seeping under Keith’s skin. Eventually, Lance’s voice drifts by after it, the words almost inaudible. “I know that I’m… That I’m fucking up royally. I know that. But there’s… I don’t know how to fix it, okay? I’m trying, but I don’t…”

Again, a painfully awkward, obviously stressful silence lingers, long enough this time that Keith starts to wonder if they managed to leave without him hearing. But before he can slink off back to his room, Coran clears his throat and speaks.

“How many times has it been then?”

“I don’t… Times?” Lance parrots, voice weirdly small. And when Coran hums thoughtfully around his response, even Keith tenses in defensive surprise.

“Your visits to Saveelia.”

There’s a tense, weighted beat of silence, and then-

“C-Coran?” Lance whispers. This time the name sounds fragile, splintering at the edges; even without seeing his face, Keith can picture wide eyes shifting about in panic, probably searching for an escape. “I don’t-”

Whatever look Coran gives him must be an impressive one, because that’s all of a denial Lance manages to get out. Instead, there’s another stretch of frustrating silence, no audible clues for Keith to follow, and then Lance lets out a soft, dejected sigh.

“Nine.”

Coran hums again, a knowing sound. “And who exactly was at the foundation of your Transfer?”

“Coran,” Lance practically whimpers. It would sound pathetic if Keith wasn’t feeling the same terrified reluctance for him to go on. “Please don’t make me-”

“Who was it, Lance?” Coran pushes, and his tone tells Keith that he already knows, or at the very least assumes. It also brokers no argument.

Perhaps Lance hears that too, because only a few seconds later, he grits out, “Keith. It’s always Keith.”

Unexpectedly, Coran chuckles a bit at that, which is mildly offending. “I wish I could tell you I was surprised,” he says, chuckling again when Lance responds with an offended squawk. “You parade your emotions around like badges of honor, my boy. The good ones and the bad. It’s part of the reason why the Blue Lion picked you.” Keith can perfectly imagine Lance’s face right now, caught between proud and ashamed. “The Blue Lion is drawn to emotional honesty, to those carrying an open heart and an adventurous spirit. It not only holds the team up as one of the legs of Voltron, but its pilot also carries the hearts of its fellow paladins, helps shoulder their burdens and keep them headed down the right path.”

Involuntarily, Keith finds himself thinking of all the way that Lance has carried them so far. With Lance at the helm, Blue literally brought them all to Arus, to their purpose in the universe. Lance has saved each of them at least once, sacrificed himself to do so on more than one occasion. As much as Keith is loath to admit it, he really does have a knack for keeping their spirits up, keeping them together, just as Coran said.

“But,” Coran continues, and Keith almost startles, forgetting for a moment where he is, what he’s currently eavesdropping on. “Such an emotional impact on the team can have negative consequences as well. Especially when tensions are particularly high between certain paladins.”

Something sour bubbles to life at the pit of Keith’s stomach.

“You don’t get it,” Lance eventually chokes out, the words tightening around his throat like a noose, the raw scrape to his voice literally painful to listen to. “I can’t even be in the same room with him anymore. I fucked up and I don’t think there’s a way to fix it and you just… You can’t possibly know what this is like.”

“Well now, you see,” Coran sighs into the silence of Lance’s outburst, and Keith swears he’s never heard the man sound so disheartened, so self deprecating. “That, my boy, is where you are wrong.”

A moment passes that makes Keith wonder if they’re sharing a look, maybe talking too quietly for him to hear, but eventually, Lance huffs out an agitated breath, clearly unconvinced. “So what? You’re saying you had an “enlightening experience” at a Saveelian whore house too?”

“In so many words.”

A pause; Keith wouldn’t be surprised if Lance and he were both equally thrown off guard. Lance comes out of it first, though.

“Even so, it’s not like whoever the Transfer dragged out of your head was putting the entire universe in danger. I still think I win.”

Coran chuckles again, softly and mostly to himself, and even from around the corner, Keith can hear an immense, undeniable sadness in it. “Perhaps you do. Perhaps I made the right decision, to never tell him of my experiences on Saveelia. Perhaps, while it had always been selfish, it was also the safest path. First to protect our friendship, then to shield Allura, then to alleviate distraction during a time of war. No moment would ever be safe enough. And eventually, his mission became more important than any confession I could ever hope to make.”

It takes Keith far, far too long to wrap his brain around the new information, and by the time he does, Lance has already connected the dots.

“You’re not saying… In Saveelia, your Transfer… It was-”

“King Alfor,” Coran finishes for him, voice surprisingly steady.

“Allura’s father,” Lance breathes, voice tinged with the same emotion that seems to be tearing at Keith’s heart from the inside.

This time, Coran’s voice is lighter, almost amused. “Yes. Allura’s father.”

“You… You two were…”

“He never knew.”

There’s a permanence to those words, like a confession spoken for the first time since a long and exhausting trial. It makes Keith’s chest twist, his heart aching with an empathy he can’t even begin to articulate. When Coran goes on, Keith has to hug his arms to his chest to keep from hitting the wall in aggravation.

“I never told him about Saveelia, about the first visit or the three after that. And I never told him how I felt. At first, it was my way of unburdening him in an already stressful time. But in all honesty, I was frightened. To have such tangible proof stand before me, a physical, chemical representation of my inner most desire… It makes it impossible to deny. No matter how much you try to pretend, no matter how much you laugh away the absurdity of it all, there they are, your secret longings made flesh, and you find you can’t lie to yourself anymore.”

There’s a soft noise, something Keith can’t identify, and then Lance whispers a question that Keith can barely hear. Still, when he catches enough of it to translate, his stomach drops to his toes, a sickening chill spreading like venom through his bloodstream.

“So how did you do it? How did you make it stop?”

 _Stop._

Lance wants it to stop. He doesn’t want this attraction, this… whatever he has for Keith. He wants it to go away. For a split second, Keith thinks he might throw up.

“There’s no stopping how you feel, Lance,” Coran says. “You just choose what to do with the knowledge of it. I stand by my decision. Keeping my experience to myself was in Alfor’s best interest, at least at the time. But not telling him, never finding a “safe enough” time to do so… And then having that opportunity ripped away? That’s something I’ll always regret.”

If Keith felt guilty for listening in on this conversation before, hearing Coran’s confession makes him feel like a downright creep. He wasn’t meant to bare witness to this, wasn’t meant to be privy to the heartache lingering beneath Coran’s carefree and energetic façade. It had been easy to understand Allura’s loss. Awakening after ten thousand years to her planet destroyed, her people with it, nothing left but an AI of her father, and one she would eventually have to sacrifice for the sake of all their lives.

But while he’s ashamed to admit it, Keith never considered Coran’s loss. It was his planet too, they were also his people. Surely he’d had a family of his own, friends and lovers that perished in the aftermath of the Galra’s victory. Surely Keith should have realized that Coran was hurting just as badly. Surely he could have realized how much the king had meant to him. But he’d never paid it any mind, never stopped to wonder how much Coran might have lost as well. And if the awkward silence is any indication, Lance hadn’t either.

“Coran… I’m so sorry,” he says eventually, though it doesn’t quite feel like enough. When Coran replies, Keith can hear the smile in his voice, imagines him putting a hand on Lance’s shoulder out of some sort of misdirected comfort.

“No apologies necessary, my boy. His presence in my life will forever be missed, but I take solace in the fact that we’re continuing his legacy.”

“Of course.”

“That doesn’t mean that I don’t regret not telling him how I felt.”

“Coran…” Lance’s voice sounds caught somewhere between a whine and a plea. “I can’t.”

“Just think about it, Lance. There’s nothing worse than spending the rest of your life wondering what might have been if only you’d been a little braver.”

“What if… What if he doesn’t feel the same way?” The vulnerability in Lance’s voice is clear, and Keith swears he’s never wanted to simultaneously kiss and punch the guy more. “If I tell him that I- How I feel… And he gets freaked out or _grossed_ out, won’t that just make things worse? For Voltron, I mean.”

Another low chuckle from Coran, and then the soft but stern words, “Either way, Keith deserves to know. You might even be surprised.”

Lance doesn’t respond for a long, long moment, and when he does, Keith feels his heart leap into his throat.

“I’ve already fucked up too much. What am I supposed to say? I’ve been having sex with an alien prostitute that looks like you because I think I might be in love with you and I’m too much of a chicken shit to try for the real thing? Yeah. That’ll go over well.”

This time, Coran openly laughs, the sound loud in the emptiness of the hallway. “Perhaps not in so many words.”

“I can’t tell him. I can’t. Not after everything I’ve done.”

“Lance-”

“I’m sorry, Coran.” 

Lance’s voice fades, the sound of his footsteps fading with him. After a moment, Coran sighs into the renewed quiet of the empty hall and his own footsteps head off in the opposite direction. Once they disappear completely, Keith takes a deep breath, in and out, and then pushes away from the wall. His heart is still pounding, his mind racing with all the new information, but instead of heading to the training deck as planned, he heads back to his room to think.

Lance might be in love with him. Lance might be in love with him and is probably too scared to ever say that to Keith’s face. Lance might be in love with him and has no idea that Keith’s been in love with him for a long time now. And sure, Keith made an error in judgment and assumed too much, but Lance would rather sleep with his look alike than actually say how he feels, so Lance is definitely more of a coward. And a dumbass. Mostly a dumbass.

Still. Lance thinks he might be _in love with him_. 

Keith doesn’t quite know how to process the information outside of the giddy ball of warmth blooming in his chest. Lance may have handled everything with the least amount of grace a human could possibly muster, but that doesn’t change the foundation of it. It’s difficult to believe, what with the mixed signals and blatant animosity, but the words have been said. And if Lance thinks Keith’s just going to sit back and let him keep fucking around, he’s dead wrong. How could he, now that he knows? Why would he when, for the first time since Lance said they made a good team, Keith feels that same hope clawing its way into his heart again? He’s not letting Lance sit on this one, no way.

Doesn’t mean he’s not still royally pissed at the guy though.

In fact, as Keith wanders into the kitchen the next morning, it’s with a renewed sense of God Dammit, Lance ingrained in his system. He’s happy that his feelings are in some very bizarre way reciprocated, don’t get him wrong. But that doesn’t change the fact that Lance is being a big fucking baby about it. 

Sure, Keith’s not completely blameless. He did his fair share of keeping his feelings to himself too. But he also didn’t let it affect the team. At least not drastically. Lance has brought not only Keith into this clusterfuck of a love triangle, but on many levels he’s dragged the whole team into it now. Really, Keith should just pull him aside, tell him he knows, and end this. Or start it? Who knows what a conversation like that might result in…

Something that simple just doesn’t seem good enough, though, not after everything Lance has put him through. Definitely not. As petty as it may be, Keith wants to watch Lance squirm a little more first. It’s vindictive and pointless, especially knowing that the preferred endgame will be hopefully, mutually beneficial, but there it is. Keith never claimed to be a mature adult.

And, as if the universe is granting him permission to continue down his childish path, the perfect opportunity arises with their morning briefing.

“Alright, Paladins!” Allura announces with her usual vigor, the sort that makes Keith feel a bit like he might be jumping headfirst into a life-threatening situation. “From our first run of intelligence, this sector seems mostly secure. Still, before we head for a new system, I’d like to solidify some of the major planets’ defense protocols.”

Allura proposes each paladin make one last run to a nearby planet. Their job is to contact planetary authority, enforce preliminary safety measures where necessary, and then head back to the castle once a solid perimeter has been put in place for the quadrant. When Saveelia turns out to be one of the names on Allura’s list, Keith can’t help but glance in Lance direction.

He also can’t help the noticeable scoff when Lance unsurprisingly offers to take it.

At the sound, Lance looks his way, flinching. Keith shrugs, leaning back into the couch with what’s probably an overdramatic attempt at indifference.

“What? You seemed to really like it there last time we went.”

“Y-Yeah,” Lance clears his throat, already getting to his feet. Running away from the awkward: Lance’s New MO. “It was a cool place. Wanna make sure we keep it safe and stuff. Do you need us for anything else, Princess?” Lance asks over his shoulder, though it hardly slows his pace towards the door.

“No…” Allura watches him go, an eyebrow raised in confusion, but she doesn’t comment. “Everyone, dismissed. You are to meet back here as soon as you’ve all completed your missions. I’ll have a wormhole set for our next quadrant when you return.”

Everyone offers her their own words of agreement and departure, heading towards their respective hangars without much further conversation. Before Keith can do the same, however, Coran clears his throat and calls out Keith’s name.

“Would you mind sticking around for a bit?” he asks, a look of poorly concealed amusement on his face. Keith doesn’t exactly like the idea of giving Lance a head start towards Qaan, but he also doesn’t want to come off as suspicious, so he nods in agreement and stays put, waits for Coran to speak.

Instead, all Coran does is walk up to him, place a hand on his shoulder, and smile. His eyes scan Keith’s face long enough that Keith feels his skin start to prickle, the scrutiny bordering on uncomfortable. “Coran?” He forces out in attempt to break the silence. “What are you-?”

“Don’t be too hard on him, alright?” Coran finally says, giving Keith’s shoulder a firm squeeze before dropping his hand. Keith feels his heart stutter, his eyes widening in surprise. He couldn’t have… Did he know that Keith had…? But he’d been so quiet.

“Coran, I don’t think-”

“Don’t let him keep making my mistake,” Coran cuts him off before he can come up with a poorly delivered excuse. His words are the same from last night, brutally telling. “All right, my boy?”

Coran’s tone is serious, maybe a little sad. Once again, it brokers no argument, like he’s offering Keith another mission, one he’s putting his faith in Keith to accomplish. Maybe it’s unfinished business for him, maybe he’s just being kind. Either way, all Keith can manage to do in response is offer Coran a firm nod. An agreement.

“Good lad!” Coran claps him hard on the back, pushing him towards the door. “Make sure everything is settled by the time you get back.”

“S-Sure,” Keith chokes, straightening out of his stumble and continuing on towards Red.

Settled? He’s not even sure what that’s supposed to mean. But if it’s anywhere in the vicinity of Lance getting his head out of his ass (and possibly getting his dick into Keith’s) well then. He’s going to damn well try.

Lance’s trajectory isn’t that far off by the time Keith is situated in Red and leaving the hangar. There’s still a substantial trail Blue has left behind, probably no more than a ten minute difference in departure, but Keith still books it, whispers at Red through their bond to go faster, to make it in time.

Time for what, though, Keith has no fucking clue.

In fact, it becomes startling clear the moment he lands Red in a field just outside of Qaan, that he has no idea what he’s doing. Is he supposed to confront Lance? Catch him on the way into the brothel and shout an accusatory, “Ah ha!” Is he supposed to wait for Lance outside, bulrush him on his way out with a substantial helping of guilt? Or is he supposed to convince the Saveelian prostitutes to-

Oh. Now there’s an idea.

It’s probably a stupid plan, but once Keith gets it in his head, it falls into narrow minded focus, leading him through the market and on Lance’s heels back to the brothel. He just barely misses Lance’s entrance, his escape into the many hallways of the building. Which is perfect for this, should work out nicely for what he’s got in mind.

If… If he can actually convince himself to do it.

The thing is, now that he’s here, he’s starting to get nervous. He keeps thinking of ways this could go wrong, ways that end in messy arguments or messier fights. He keeps thinking of ways he might ruin this, ways he might end up making things worse.

But then he thinks of all the ways Lance has already made matters messy and awkward and worse and decides, fuck it. He’s allowed at least a little payback here, right? They can figure out reconciliation later.

He finds Lance’s room easily enough, the door slightly ajar just like before. Taking care to be as quiet as possible, he leans against the wall and listens, waiting for the Saveelian to come out and change just like last time.

It takes a moment for him to start picking up on words and sentences, but when he does, he stops breathing.

“I just don’t know if he feels the same…” Lance’s voice groans, obviously frustrated. “I mean, if I were him, I wouldn’t even want to _forgive_ me let alone _date_ me.”

Keith’s heart jumps at the idea of Lance wanting to date him, the warmth blooming in his chest almost enough to distract him from the situation.

“You will never know unless you talk to him,” the Saveelian responds. “The real him.”

“I get that,” Lance sighs. A soft thump follows, like Lance has thrown himself onto the bed. “And I will, I just… I’m scared, all right? It’s easier to talk to you, you know? And I... I know you’re not my therapist or whatever but it’s easier than facing him. Especially after everything.”

“You are not the first to stand at this impasse, Lance. While some are never presented such an opportunity, it is not uncommon for others to avoid it. Your choice is, as it always has been, yours. Whatever you decide, the consequences will likewise be yours alone.”

There’s a long silence after that, long enough that Keith starts to feel antsy, anxious, but then Lance speaks again, his voice soft.

“We’re leaving this sector soon so. This… This’ll be the last time. After that, I’ll talk to him, okay? I just… Can we? One more time? Just in case.” There’s a breath, and when Lance continues, his voice sounds strained. Keith feels it like an ache in his throat, a pressure in his chest. “I want to see him one more time, like this. Just in case I’ve fucked everything up. Just in case I don’t get another chance.”

And suddenly, simple payback seems less of a motivator. Suddenly, it’s not just about teasing Lance or making him realize his idiocy, it’s about telling Lance that he knows, showing Lance that he feels the same. And it’s about letting Lance know it’s okay. He doesn’t forgive him exactly, not just yet, but it’s okay. 

“As you wish,” The Saveelian replies, all business, and moments later, the door is swinging open. As if expecting him, and perhaps she had been, the Saveelian glances at Keith before passing, making a motion for him to follow. He does, the details of his plan going fuzzy with nervousness.

Thankfully, it looks like the Saveelian has a similar idea in mind.

She leads him to a room not far from Lance’s, gesturing for him to join her inside. Once the door has closed behind them, she casually walks past him and grabs a long robe from a hook on the wall.

“You will need to put this on.”

And just like that, the plan becomes very, very real.

“Sure,” Keith mutters absently, reaching to pull the cloth from the fingers of her two right hands. When she doesn’t immediately leave, however, he pauses, unsure how to continue. “Are you just… going to watch me change, or-?”

“It would be wise not to let the deception go on for too long, Keith,” she interrupts, saying his name as if she knows it, as if she’s heard it many, many times before. Keith tries not to bristle, knowing her advice to be valuable if not a bit unexpectedly kind; though he can’t imagine having sex with someone so frequently and not caring for them just a little.

Placing the robe on the arm of the room’s lone couch, Keith slips off his jacket, his shirt. “I won’t. Only long enough to see-” He stops. See what, exactly, he’s not really sure. See how Lance really feels? He knows that already. See if Lance will be able to tell the difference? That’s probably going to be obvious considering Keith doesn’t have much experience to play off of outside of his own fantasies.

See if Lance will chicken out the moment he’s presented with the real thing, maybe? Well, if that’s the case, Keith isn’t above tying Lance to the bed and fighting him tooth and nail over it. If there’s one thing he’s not leaving Saveelia without, it’s a confession. And maybe also an apology.

It takes Keith a second to realize the Saveelian woman is still standing there, not exactly watching him, but waiting, as if she’s unsure whether to speak once more or leave it be. Eventually she decides on the former.

“Your embodiment in Lance’s Transfer was impressive, stronger than many I’ve seen,” she says. Then, as if she intends to say no more, she turns towards the door, barely glancing over her shoulder. “Do not confuse cowardice for carelessness.”

With that, Keith is alone.

It takes quick work for Keith to get the rest of his clothes off, slipping the robe into place across his shoulders. A quick glance in the mirror at his side, a full-length affaire with flowing, red fabric adorning its borders, shows the robe to be almost embarrassingly revealing. It does nothing to hide the nakedness underneath, every awkward angle, every scar, every intimate centimeter of him practically on full display. When Keith runs a careful touch down the front of his chest, fingers slipping on silk-like Saveelian cloth, his hands are shaking.

The longer he stares at himself, every detail he’s ever criticized in his own appearance jumping to the forefront of his mind, the more idiotic the plan starts to feel. But he’s already here, already dressed, and Lance is waiting for the Saveelian to return. If he’s going to go through with this without garnering suspicion, he’s going to have to do it now.

One deep, stilted breath, then another, and Keith is forcing his attention away from the mirror and back to the task at hand. Not that it makes it any easier, Keith’s hand literally hesitating over the handle to Lance’s door.

Keith’s not an actor. He has no idea how to even pretend to be whatever version of Keith the Saveelian has been portraying. Worst case, Lance notices instantly, thinks he’s being made fun of, and then they fight. Best case, Lance doesn’t notice, they have sex, then Keith spills the beans and… and they probably still fight. But at least they got to have sex first? Ugh. The plan continues to sound progressively more ridiculous as he hesitates, so Keith runs a hand over his face, still shaking, and instead forces himself to focus on each step as it comes. 

The first of which being: Open The Fucking Door.

There’s barely a creak as Keith lets himself inside, the room coming into full view as he glances around, trying not to look too much like it’s his first time seeing it up close. Of course, when his eyes land on the bed, he can’t seem to stop the way his eyes widen a fraction, his heart speeding up against his will.

Lance is lying back against the plush-looking comforter, naked and hard and perfectly comfortable in his own skin. There’s an anticipatory tension noticeable in the long length of his torso, his arms, despite the way he’s got them resting behind his head in attempt at relaxation. His eyes are closed, teeth nibbling distractingly at his bottom lip.

He doesn’t seem to notice Keith’s arrival just yet, giving Keith the unexpected opportunity to stare. The Saveelian has seen Lance’s naked form enough for it to be commonplace by now, he assumes. But outside of that stolen moment, creepily snatched from beyond a crack in the door, this is Keith’s first time, so he decides to be grateful, letting his gaze roam over tan skin and taut muscle while Lance is distracted. Just for a moment.

A very short moment, apparently, since Lance decides to take the opportunity then, to reach a hand down, eyes still closed, to wrap loosely around his own length. Keith startles out a soft breath, and Lance’s eyes flutter open.

Only a bit startled, Lance removes his hand and sits back up, having the common decency to look embarrassed at being caught out. Though Keith’s not exactly sure what the protocol is for touching yourself before the prostitute is present, so.

“I, um…” Lance clears his throat, glancing out of the window that overlooks the market. “I didn’t hear you come back in.”

And herein lies Keith’s predicament. What is he supposed to say? Anything? What is he supposed to do? Surely Lance is expecting things to move relatively quickly, but as much as Keith has fantasized about this, he doesn’t have a lot of experience to fall back on. Would it be too obvious if he tried to convince Lance to take the reins? Should he stay silence, play coy, act like it’s a game on the Saveelian’s part? There are too many variables Keith didn’t account for, his rash decision suddenly leaving him blind in enemy territory with little to go on but a fragment of data and a desperate need for the mission to succeed.

He’s been through worse and managed, but that doesn’t stop the way his heart pounds in his ears even as blood begins to pool south. He’s already half hard.

Keith opens his mouth to say something, though he has no idea what, and Lance, beautiful, rambling ball of energy that he is, completely cuts Keith off.

“Look, I know we only ever really talk about Keith when you’re not, you know,” Lance gestures at Keith from head to toe, and neither of them seem to be able to stop the way their cheeks redden. “B-But, I just need to do something quick, okay? I just-” He gets to his feet, full attention suddenly on Keith’s face. “I wanna practice once, before we do this. You know? Like, a dress rehearsal for later. Just to get it out of my system so I’m not thinking about it while we- Yeah. Is that okay?”

A dress rehearsal. Keith raises an eyebrow at that, but the look on Lance’s face is serious, a little nervous even, so Keith just nods in response, not really trusting his voice. Lance nods back, taking a breath.

“Okay, so, um. Do me a favor and don’t say anything, alright? Like, just stand there and pretend you’re really him for a second.”

It may be the beginning of hysterics, but a part of Keith has to literally bite his tongue to keep from laughing at that. Oh god, if only Lance _knew_. His silence is apparently enough of a go ahead, though, because Lance pays him no mind, steeling himself for a moment before walking up and grabbing Keith’s hand. Keith feels his heart skip, but he stifles an actual jolt, letting his hand fit comfortably in between both of Lance’s. His palms are warm, fingers long and soft, softer than one would expect of a Paladin of Voltron.

“Keith,” Lance says, an ere of practice about it, as if what he’s about to say has been repeated more than a few times in his own mirror. At that, Keith does startle a little bit, if only just because he hadn’t realized how intently he’d been looking at Lance’s hands.

“Keith,” Lance says his name again, this time softer, and his words follow suit, barely above a whisper at first. “I fucked up. Like bad.” Talk about an understatement… But Keith wills his eyes not to roll, keeping his face carefully neutral as Lance goes on.

“I don’t expect you to forgive me. What I’ve been doing… It’s been a total betrayal of your privacy and your trust and I’m so, so sorry that I was too weak to stop. I never knew how much I wanted you until it was right there in front of me, and it wasn’t you, not really, but it was as close as I thought I would ever be able to get, so. So I did it. And then I did it again, and again, and- Wait. You don’t actually know what _it_ is at this point. Fuck. So, um. I’ve been having sex with an alien prostitute that looks like you, I guess? And it’s not like I went looking for that or anything. More like, I was just trying to prove to you that I would, and then they showed up looking like you and… And I couldn’t say no. I didn’t want to. Except, then it started messing with my head, and Voltron, and seeing you was confusing and terrifying and instead of trying to fix it, I just kept doing things to make it worse.”

 _Like shooting me?_ Keith doesn’t say, because it looks like Lance is about to have an aneurism trying to get the words out, which is kind of redeeming in and of itself. Not nearly enough, but it’s a start.

“Look, Keith,” Lance says, squeezing his hand once before letting go. “I guess what I’m trying to say, and clearly I need to practice more before I do it for real, like fuck. But anyway. What I want you to know is that I’m sorry. I’ve never been more sorry about anything in my life, expect maybe leaving my family behind without warning, and what really scares me is that I’ve ruined this. Not just Voltron or our friendship, but this. This thing we could have had if I’d been smart enough or brave enough to make more right decisions instead of wrong ones. Because I…”

Lance takes another breath, and Keith swears he feels it being stolen directly from his own lungs.

“I love you, Keith. Like “in love with you” love you. I, um. I’ve loved you for a while, I think, and I’m sorry it’s taken all of this for me to realize it. I mean, fuck, the Saveelians knew before I did, and that was frustrating, but I’m glad I know now, even if I’ve already screwed everything up beyond repair. I mean, I kept coming back, because part of me was convinced that I’d already lost my chance, and this place was all I would be allowed to have, but we’re leaving now, and I would regret it forever if I didn’t say something, so I guess that’s why I’m telling you this and-”

Well. So much for trying to keep his cover.

“Lance,” Keith huffs, a soft chuckle of amusement underneath the name. He can feel himself smiling, an unexpected and nearly impossible sensation after everything, but there it is. Lance’s words stutter to a halt, eyes blinking wide in surprise.

“Yeah?” he asks, voice a bit rough. Keith reaches out, hand gently cupping the side of Lance’s face. His thumb brushes against the soft raise of his cheekbone, reveling in how smooth the skin is there. A breath escapes between Lance’s lips, parted and shiny wet from all the biting he’s been doing to them, and Keith marvels not for the first time at the breathtaking blue of his eyes. He’s close enough now to watch the moment Lance’s pupils dilate, the image burning itself into Keith’s brain, a permanent fixture in his favorite, most private of memories.

Careful not to give himself away, Keith reaches his hand around to the back of Lance’s neck, gently tugging, luring Lance down the few inches to his level. Lance goes willingly, breath coming a bit shorter, and Keith feels the thrill of leading him like a burst of adrenaline during combat.

“K-Keith,” Lance stutters out his name as if by accident, an involuntary sound, and Keith feels that too, a warm pulse of energy from heart to groin and back. His smile widens. 

He tugs Lance in nearly the rest of the way, lips just barely touching, and whispers, “Shut the fuck up.”

Then, Keith is kissing him, hard and hungry and desperate.

Lance squeaks, tensing against him in shock at first, before he’s melting into the kiss, pulling Keith in closer, as close as their two bodies will allow. The kiss is wet and messy, too much tongue and the occasional knocking of teeth, but Keith is dizzy with it regardless, soaking in every sensation like he needs it to live.

When Keith pulls away, it’s to reattach lips and teeth to the long span of Lance’s neck, sucking color into sensitive skin. Lance shivers under his touch, hands raking up Keith’s back, tangling in his hair. The little breaths of sound that escape him rush straight from Keith’s ears to his groin, fully hard cock bobbing between his legs.

“Wha-?” Keith hears Lance gasp at a particularly hard bite, stumbling a bit as Keith pushes him back towards the bed. Even when Keith reclaims his mouth, words still attempt to pour out between them. “I don’t- What are you-?”

“Just shut up for a second, would you?” Keith mumbles against his lips, only mildly annoyed, because he’s kissing Lance, finally, _finally_ kissing Lance, and the dumbass will not. Stop. Talking. The frazzled confusion Lance seems to suffer from, however, is enough for Keith to shove him more completely onto the bed. With a slight bounce, Lance braces himself on his elbows, staring at Keith with wide eyes.

Keith makes quick work of dropping his robe to the floor, ignoring the twinge of self-consciousness at suddenly standing completely naked in front of the source of his long standing infatuation. And arousal, best not forget that. Not that he could, what with the way Lance barely needs to do more than lick his lips and Keith’s cock twitches.

True to form, Lance seems about to completely ignore Keith’s request, opening his mouth to say something, ask something, none of which Keith exactly wants to hear right now. So before he can, Keith crowds himself into Lance’s space, all but crawling into his lap and forcing him to lay back. Keith plants both hands on either side of Lance’s head, effectively caging him in, and then proceeds to devour Lance’s mouth in another deep, searing kiss.

Lance groans into it, tongue dipping out to run along Keith’s bottom lip, sucking it between his teeth and sending a shiver down Keith’s spine. 

He’s wanted this for so long, so _long_ , that it feels like that simple move alone is enough to bring Keith close to coming. Thankfully (or perhaps unfortunately) Lance doesn’t try it again, instead choosing to do the exact opposite, both hands suddenly rising between them and shoving hard against Keith’s chest.

The kiss is broken with a vulgar and wet sounding pop, both of them panting heavily against each other until Lance manages to find his words.

“W-Wait. Wait, wait, wait. Hang on,” he wheezes, trying to push himself up a bit. Keith watches him, moves back some to let him sit up. His eyes are wild, maybe even close to terrified, and Keith swears he can see the exact moment the gears in his brain start turning again. “You’re not- Oh my god.” Frantically, Lance inches up a bit further to look between them, very obviously staring at the space between their thighs. When he jerks his head up again, he’s gone pale. “Holy fucking shit _Keith?!_ ” 

Keith can’t help it, bristling under the weight of Lance’s panicked attention. “Did you…? Did you just use my dick as a reference for-?”

“That’s-!” Lance blurts, voice too high and color returning to his face much too quickly. “It looks different!”

“That’s because mine is real!” Keith shouts back, gesturing to his (still shockingly hard) cock with an overdramatic flourish. Lance covers his face with trembling hands, a whine escaping between his fingers, and Keith deflates a bit. Well. This is off to a lousy start, he’ll admit, but all things considered, it doesn’t look unsalvageable yet. Not if he can help it, anyway.

So, before Lance can settle on fight or flight, Keith leans back in, placing a single kiss against Lance’s collarbone. Expectedly, Lance startles, hands dropping away from his face to watch Keith’s trail of kisses travel from collarbone to chest to nipple.

“What… are you doing?” Lance whispers, a breathless and involuntary jumble of words. Keith hums against his chest, flicking at the hardened numb with the tip of his tongue before answering.

“What does it look like?”

Lance whines again, this time a choked off sound from the very back of his throat as Keith pulls the sensitive bud between his teeth and gently tugs. “N-No, I mean here. What are you doing _here_?”

Keith sucks at the abused flesh for a moment longer before switching to Lance’s other nipple, silently proud of the way Lance can’t seem to keep his hands out of Keith’s hair again.

“I stand by my last answer,” Keith huffs, gooseflesh breaking out along Lance’s chest when each word blows warm air against the wet stripe of spit slicked skin. “Shouldn’t be too different than what you’re used to, right?” He adds as an afterthought, and if his voice sounds a little bitter, even if ignorable over the purr of his own arousal, he’s earned that much for sure.

“But it’s _you_ ,” Lance groans as if he understands. Against his scalp, he can feel Lance’s fingers still shaking, gripping just shy of too tight, as if he’ll shatter without something to hold on to. Keith can sympathize; he feels a bit like he’s coming apart at the seams himself. “It’s really you? It’s not-”

“It’s me,” Keith says into Lance’s stomach, feeling it jump against his lips, shudder against his tongue.

“You _knew_?” Lance grits out, voice struggling between incredulous and hopeful.

“Not till recently,” Keith says, mouth inching lower, hands already resting in a loose grip around Lance’s inner thighs. “You weren’t exactly subtle.”

“So you’re not-“ The words fall into a choked off moan as Keith nips lightly just above his pelvis, dark brown pubic hair tickling his chin. “Y-You’re not mad at me?”

Here, Keith stops, takes a single moment to lift his head and look Lance dead in the eye. “I’m fucking furious at you.”

Then he proceeds to lick a teasing stripe up the entire length of Lance shaft, circling the head once with his tongue before downing him.

He can’t go very far, mouth watering at his attempt to suppress a gag, but what he can’t reach, he makes up for by wrapping a hand around the base of Lance’s cock and stroking. Lance cries out, bucking his hips at the sensation, and Keith chokes a bit, forcing Lance’s hips flush against the bed with his other hand. A few experimental attempts later, and Keith finds a nice rhythm, hallowing his cheeks as he sucks and letting his tongue do more of the work.

Once it becomes habitual, Keith allows himself to soak it all in. Lance is heavy against his tongue, a bit salty and bitter whenever Keith licks at the beads of precum forming at the slit. Occasionally, Lance will whimper or groan, cock twitching in tandem, and Keith feels it like a hand to his own; he’s harder than he ever remembers being. Once, when he glances up to find Lance watching him, pupils blown wide and mouth open in disbelief, Keith moans, the action apparently having the added benefit of making Lance throw his head back and _whimpers_.

“Keith, _Keith_!” Lance suddenly cries, legs shaking and toes repeatedly digging deep into the comforter. With a rush of arousal spiking fierce and hot, Keith realizes Lance is about to come. With nothing more than a few minutes of Keith’s mouth on his cock, Lance is about to come against his tongue, maybe across his face, and-

And Keith’s not ready.

Without warning, Keith pulls off with an obscene sound, string of saliva connecting Keith’s mouth to the head of Lance’s cock. It trembles like a guitar string every time Keith pants a breath.

“What are you-?” Lance huffs, equally as winded, and so hard in Keith’s motionless grip that it looks nearly painful. “Why did you stop?”

Keith licks his lips, snapping the string of saliva connecting them, and crawls on shaking limbs back up Lance’s body. He kisses him deep, lets Lance taste himself on his tongue, and moans at the feel of Lance rutting against him almost unconsciously. After a moment, Keith trails wet lips away from Lance’s mouth, down his cheek, and to his ear.

“We’re not done yet.”

Lance’s full body shudder at the words is contagious, Keith’s own body wracked with a sudden shiver at the wanton noise that crawls up Lance’s throat. Not to mention the view, Lance sprawling almost involuntarily further beneath him, eager and hungry and waiting for whatever Keith plans to do next.

Except… Except he has no idea what he wants. There’s too much, too much he’s always wanted to do, too much he’s always fantasized trying. This moment may hopefully be the first of many, but it’s still fleeting. And Keith has no idea how best to make it last.

“Hey,” Lance’s voice, still breathy and soft, but less frantic now, grabs his attention. He’s looking up at Keith with kind eyes, only partially tinged with that same hunger from before. When he reaches a hand up to cup Keith’s face, Keith can’t help but lean into it, the gesture almost startlingly comforting.

“What do you want me to do?” Keith hears himself ask, eyes half closed as he nuzzles into Lance’s palm. The moment the words leave his lips, he knows they’re the right ones, Lance’s breath catching in his throat. Before answering, Lance drags his thumb down to rest against Keith’s bottom lip, and without really making the conscious decision to do so, Keith runs his tongue along the pad of it, sucking it into his mouth.

Lance licks his lips at the sight, swallows thickly, and says, “I wanna fuck you. Can I?” And then softer, a bit like it hurts to say, he adds, “For real, this time?”

“Yeah,” Keith hums around Lance’s thumb, opening his mouth to let the digit fall in a wet trail down his chin. “Yeah.” And just in case how much he wants this isn’t written plain as day on his face, Keith adds in his own painful whisper, “Please.”

Lance is on him in an instant, pulling him down and scrambling to flip them both over. It’s a bit awkward, a tangle of limbs, but the moment Lance is hovering over him, it no longer matters. Teeth and tongue latch resiliently onto Keith’s neck, sucking deep blotches of color into his skin, and Keith can’t help the way his hips buck up at the empty air between them in response. The bruises left behind straddle the line between pain and pleasure, and by the third ruthless bite against his pulse, Keith is nearly left blind with dizzying arousal.

“L-Lance,” He chokes out, raking his nails down the length of Lance’s back. “Lance, is there-? Do you have-?” Words. He needs words. His brain is too muddled, though, unable to reach back into the archives for any fragments of disjointed vocabulary that might be of assistance. 

Ah. Wait. 

“Lube,” he gasps, and hopes that Lance understands. It should be pretty straight forward, but with his own cognizance at an all time low, he can hardly be sure.

Like the infuriating piece of shit that he is, Lance chuckles against a forth, newly formed bruise, and then reaches over Keith’s head towards the nightstand. He doesn’t bring whatever he’s reaching for back with him, but his fingers return shiny and wet all the same, his hand disappearing between their bodies without further delay.

The feel of a slick finger, tentative and gentle as it brushes against the crack of his ass, runs through Keith like an electric current. He has no idea what noise he makes at the sensation, but he’s pretty sure it’s embarrassing; he’ll let post-orgasm Keith deal with it. Lance’s mouth is back against his neck, this time simply stroking in long, warm-wet stripes with his tongue, teeth barely grazing the skin.

“How is this possible?” Lance practically whimpers against his pulse, voice strained and barely audible as he slowly, _slowly_ inches his index finger past the resistance of Keith’s hole. On reflex, Keith arches his back, a direct contrast to how he wills the rest of his muscles to relax, to allow the intrusion. It’s almost distracting enough for him to miss the fact that Lance’s words don’t seem to be meant for him.

Almost.

“P-Possible?” Keith gasps, lowers himself back to the bed through sheer will alone. Objectively, he can hear himself breathing in sharp pulls of air, an attempt to slow his heart and release the already building tension.

Once that first finger is settled in to the last knuckle, Lance pulls out, worms two into that same space, and Keith thinks he might pass out before this is done. Sensory overload. It takes him a second too long to realize Lance heard him, responding with something equally as cryptic, if not more concerning.

“You shouldn’t be here.”

Keith tries to latch on to that concern, because those words _should_ be concerning, but it’s hard to do when Lance is slowly pumping two fingers in and out of his ass, the slight curve brushing just barely against that spot inside of him that’s screaming for attention. 

Still, he manages to get out a hoarse and breathy, incredibly eloquent, “Huh?”

Again, Lance pulls out, reaching back towards the dresser to recoat his fingers, and in those few, unaffected seconds, Keith can see the way his brow is furrowed, his hands just barely trembling. There’s a focus in his eyes that Keith has never seen before, a seriousness in the line of his mouth, the set of jaw. Keith’s not used to this Lance. Could be dangerous; proceed with caution.

Before Keith can analyze his expression any further, however, Lance works three fingers past the tight ring of muscle, the first burn of pressure making him hiss. It’s not unpleasant so much as unfamiliar, his toes curling at the promise of something, the phantom potential of what Keith knows Lance’s fingers against his prostate will feel like. Caution be damned, apparently.

And Lance still doesn’t seem to know when to stop talking.

“You should hate me,” he says, and even though his eyes stay oddly focused, his hands grow steadier with each scissoring stretch. His voice sounds hoarse and pained, like it’s fraying at the edges, unraveling. “God, you should _hate_ me.”

Keith opens his mouth to protest, but Lance chooses that moment to curve his fingers, rubbing close enough to his prostate that he sees stars, his words dying in his throat. Well, the unimportant ones anyway.

“I d-don’t hate you,” Keith chokes out, his own voice alien and distant, like it’s been wrenched from someone else’s throat entirely. Doesn’t make the words any less true though, not that Lance seems willing to believe them.

“You should,” Lance groans, leaning in to rest his forehead against the crook of Keith’s neck and shoulder. Slowly, with enough pressure to make a pleasant and needy ache settle low in Keith’s gut, Lance removes his fingers and speaks, lips brushing against his collarbone. “After everything I’ve done, you _should_ hate me. I don’t deserve you like this, not now, not after… You should be threatening to kill me, not- Not spread out and looking so- Fuck, Keith, I’m so sorry. I’m so, so-”

And something in Keith may or may not snap. Just a little.

“Jesus Christ, can you please save your freak out for later and fuck me already?” He groans, a bit overdramatic, sure, but he feels like he’s been hard for weeks, and Lance just had his fingers up his ass, for god’s sake. He’s stretched and ready, so, so ready, and Lance chooses now to start wallowing? Fuck that. “Seriously. You have no idea how long I’ve been-”

He catches up to himself quickly. Though, unfortunately, not quickly enough.

Lance blinks down at him, realization beginning to dawn on his face. “How long you’ve been…?” He parrots, prodding for the end of that sentence, which Keith refuses to give him. It doesn’t seem to matter though, Lance’s eyes slowly widening, filling with complicated mess of what Keith can only describe as awe, disbelief, and maybe even a little pride.

Before that pride has a chance to turn to sentiment, or even worse, Lance’s usual brand of cockiness, Keith groans in frustration and throws a hand between them. It’s hard to get a good grip at this angle, but after a moment’s frantic searching, Keith wraps his fingers around Lance’s cock. The reaction is instant, Lance’s back bowing under a hard shudder, his eyes momentarily squeezing shut. Just so he can watch his lips part on a shaky exhale, Keith strokes the length of him a couple times, heart jumping at the open, vulnerable look of pleasure that takes over Lance’s expression. Without further preamble, Keith positions the head at his entrance, a silent demand.

And then a not so silent, “Fuck now, talk later.”

It takes a few seconds for Lance to compose himself enough to take back the reins, but when he does, it’s with a hoarse, “Okay… Okay.” Then he’s moving quickly again, reaching back to the nightstand for more lube and liberally coating himself with it before settling back between Keith’s legs.

Taking a final, desperate second to sling one of Keith’s knees into the crook of his elbow, Lance leans forward and slowly, carefully presses in. 

The pressure is intense, more than Keith was expecting, but it’s good too. So, so good. Like scratching a mosquito bite till it bleeds or taking a scalding hot shower till every inch of skin has gone pink. And when the head of Lance’s cock finally pushes past that first tight ring of muscle, Keith swears he sees the Space equivalent of God.

Another embarrassing sound scratches out of his throat as Keith throws his head back into the pillow, hands scrabbling for purchase against the bed, Lance’s arms, anything he can grab on to. Every inch Lance gives him, every shallow thrust forward, strikes matches into the beginnings of an inferno at his core. 

He doesn’t realize Lance has been speaking until he’s bottomed out, pressed flush against Keith’s ass, words spilling out of his mouth in a classic, if not stilted, Lance-ramble. It’s almost impossible to decipher at first, Keith’s head swimming with the feeling of _Lance, Lance inside me, Lance around me, Lance, finally, thank god, finally, Lance_ , but then Lance bends Keith back just that little bit further and rests their foreheads together.

“Fuck, Keith,” he moans, breath hot and humid against Keith’s face. “You feel so good, I- This is so much more- _Fuck_.” And then, eyes still closed, lips mere centimeters away from Keith’s, he whispers, “God dammit, I love you so much, so fucking much, I can’t-”

“I love you too.”

The words are out before Keith can stop them, a rushed gasp of confession that drains his lungs of breath, squeezes his heart close to bursting in his chest. Lance’s eyes flutter open, first dazed, then shocked, then shimmery wet. 

“You do?” He asks, voice so vulnerable and hopeful that Keith feels it like an actual hook to his heart, reeling him in. It’s also a direct contrast to the way Lance’s cock twitches inside him, making his whole body feel desperate and hot.

Keith doesn’t even need to think, not really, just opens his mouth and says, “Of course I do, you idiot.”

After a second, Lance’s eyes crinkle at the corners, still wet, and his lips tremble as they form the beginnings of a flabbergasted smile. Then suddenly he’s laughing, and kissing Keith while laughing, and as Keith’s heart swells with the sound of it, the perfect and wonderful feel of it, Lance starts moving, pulling out halfway only to thrust back in at half speed.

Keith cries out into Lance’s mouth.

Lance’s pace isn’t brutal, but it’s hardly slow, a consistent drag almost all the way out before thrusting back in to the hilt. Each motion is fluid and precise, reaching deeper and deeper until Keith’s sure every inch of him is filled to the brim with Lance; Lance’s dick, Lance’s moans, Lance’s grip on his thighs. And all the while, Lance never stops kissing him, taking over Keith’s mouth with heady groans and panting breaths and bruised lips. It’s perfect in its distraction, making Keith dizzy, almost enough so that he misses the moment Lance slings Keith’s other leg over his shoulder.

The change in angle is monumental, and thank god Keith is flexible, because despite the slight moment of uncomfortable shock, his focus is still definitively locked on the now perfect and consistent attention to his prostate.

“Fuck, fuck, _Lance_!” Keith shouts, arms scrambling for purchase around Lance’s neck as his legs lock tight behind his back. He’s clinging, riding the tide of constant, near painful pleasure. It builds too quickly, rocks him to the core, and for a brief and terrifying moment, it feels like the only thing keeping him from losing himself entirely is the sound of Lance’s voice in his ear.

His breathing is ragged, whimpers sewn into the fabric of each exhale, but his words are indisputable, crystal clear in their desperation.

“You feel so good, so fucking good. _God_ Keith, I-” His rhythm falters even as he picks up speed. “This doesn’t seem possible. You’re so- _Fuck_ , this doesn’t seem _real_.”

 _Of course it’s real_ , Keith tries to say. _I’m here, this is happening, it took you long enough, took_ us _long enough._ He tries to say any one of these things. That’s not what comes out though.

“Don’t stop! Don’t- _ah!_ D-Don’t fucking stop!”

Lance doesn’t, not only increasing his already grueling pace, but reaching between them both to wrap a loose grip around Keith’s neglected cock as he does so.

Keith feels the added sensation like jumping into a bonfire, every inch of him ignited, boiling, ready to combust. It’s overwhelming and all encompassing, and it takes little more than a few sloppy strokes of Lance’s hand before Keith is coming, coming harder than he ever has in his life, as he literally _screams_ Lance’s name.

He doesn’t just topple into his orgasm, he crashes straight through it. His whole body tenses with the force of it, eyes squeezing shut as he momentarily blips out of existence. There’s nothing but mind numbing pleasure, too much to even properly feel. It’s like he comes for an eternity, unable to find his way back down. Especially when Lance’s hips stutter against him, rhythm lost as he thrusts in as deep as he can go.

Lance chokes out a strangled and beautifully botched attempt at his name, and then with one final, shallow thrust, he stills. Objectively, Keith knows that Lance has spilled heavy and thick inside of him, the evidence of it already dripping down his thighs as Lance pulls out, but his mind is still too far away to put much thought to it. Just that it feels warm. Everything about Lance is warm.

Especially so when Lance collapses on top of him, an exhausted but ultimately satisfied grunt huffing into the crook of Keith’s neck. Keith wheezes out a half-assed and wordless complaint before untangling his legs from Lance’s back. He lets them fall to the bed with a soft thud and tries his best to get more comfortable beneath his new, human blanket.

“That was…” Lance sighs, voice muffled. Keith hums in agreement, still straddling the line between dead to the world and riding the dizzying high of his own afterglow. “Mmmm, it’s never felt like that before,” Lance adds distractedly, tongue lightly dipping into the sweat beneath the hallow of Keith’s ear. Despite feeling utterly boneless and sated, Keith still shudders.

It takes not an insubstantial amount of willpower to lift his leaden arm up from its new home amidst the rumpled and stained Saveelian bed sheets. When he does, he inches a hand towards Lance’s head and flicks him hard in the ear. Lance barely jolts, but Keith can feel the shape of a frown taking form against the bottom of his jaw.

“Hey, ow…” Lance whines, though he makes no move to untangle himself from his near smothering position around Keith’s torso. “What gives?”

“No shit, it felt different this time.”

His own words are slurred, lacking any real venom, but they’re confident. Lance tries to look at him, although awkwardly and, in their positions, not for long.

“Hm?”

And maybe it’s a sign of the post orgasmic bliss wearing off, but Keith has to look away before explaining, a blush rising back to his already flushed face.

“It felt different this time because it was me… Obviously.”

The pause that follows isn’t awkward, exactly, more like surprised, and after a moment, Lance even shuffles down a bit to settle against Keith’s chest, looking at him more closely. When Keith finally gathers enough courage to return his stare, it’s to find Lance’s eyes fondly searching his face, lips tugged into a coy half smile.

“Yeah. You’re right.” His eyes are so bright, so eager and optimistic, that Keith has to look away again, this time for very different reasons. Mostly for the sake of his heart.

After a moment, Lance returns to their lazy cuddle, this time with his head pillowed on Keith’s shoulder. It’s quiet and warm and surprisingly comfortable being wrapped in someone else’s arms, in Lance’s arms.

“Hey, Keith?” Lance’s voice rouses him from his lull, the only sign to Keith that he’d been near dozing. He hums out a soft response for Lance to go on, but he can’t manage much more than that, far, far too content for words. “You know I meant it, right? That I love you?”

Absently, Keith wonders if he’ll ever get over that feeling, the fluttering in his chest, the sensation that his heart is suddenly bursting just at the sound of those words in Lance’s voice. He hopes not.

“I know,” Keith forces himself to reply in as neutral a tone as possible despite the way a giggle very nearly crawls it way up his throat. He’d never live it down; Lance may be in love with him, but he’s still Lance.

“And you love me too, right?” Lance persists, unaware of Keith’s struggle. He sounds more awake now, buoyant and persistent. “That’s what you said.”

For a very brief, barely entertained moment, Keith debates teasing him, saying, “Nope. Don’t remember. Didn’t happen.” But the words don’t make it past a distant thought. Instead, what he does say, is a soft and serious, “Yeah. I do.”

It’s quiet, only just barely contained, but the sound Lance makes at that can only be described as a happy squeak. When he buries himself further into Keith’s loose embrace, Keith allows himself to smile, something like his own kind of fondness going thankfully unseen.

Lance wriggles even closer into the mold of Keith’s personal space. It has the added benefit of allowing Keith to wrap his arms around Lance’s middle, but it also has the added misfortune of reminding him that they’re both currently bordering on disgusting. “Does this mean you forgive me?” He purrs.

And here, Keith will permit himself some room to tease, some leeway to hold a bit of a grudge.

“We’ll see,” he says, tightening his embrace and sighing contentedly, even as Lance flinches in his grasp, voice breaking on a disappointed whine.

“Wha-? _Keeeeiiiith!_ ”

 

.x.X.x.

 

“Hey. Keith. You awake?”

Keith startles, jolting almost violently into consciousness. After battle, it takes him a while to start sleeping fitfully again, and they’ve had nearly one attack a week for the last three. It’s starting to weigh on everyone, showing in subtle and not so subtle signs; Keith’s tell is in the way his sleep gets lighter, the way his hand automatically reaches for the knife beneath his pillow. It’s a habit only Lance so far is privy to.

“Shh, hey. It’s alright, dude. It’s me,” Lance soothes, a hand rubbing circles into the small of his back.

“Lance?” Keith blinks, eyes still gummy with interrupted sleep and voice equally as muddled. As his brain catches up to the situation, it becomes strikingly clear that he has absolutely no reason to be awake yet. “What’s wrong?”

It takes him a frustratingly long time to recognize the look on Lance’s face, already painfully familiar despite his constant attempts at remedying it.

“I’m sorry to wake you,” Lance mumbles true to form, frowning into his lap. He’s sitting up, back pressed against the wall on the innermost side of the bed. It looks like he’s been awake for a while.

Be it lack of sleep or the stress of so many battles back to back, Keith can’t really help the way his voice dips into an aggravated groan. When he says Lance’s name, he knows it sounds exasperated, knows the sight of Keith running a hand over his face in annoyance isn’t the response Lance wants, but he’s too tired to stop himself.

Lance catches on quickly; he always does.

“I know,” he sighs, brows pinching even further together. “I know you said we don’t need to talk about it anymore-”

“Because we’ve already talked about it _enough_ ,” Keith sighs, attempting to cut Lance off at the pass, but he pushes forward as if Keith hasn’t spoken at all.

“But I need to… I don’t know. I just-” When Lance looks at him, his eyes are tired and guilty, still so guilty that it slowly eats away at Keith’s annoyance, shifts the frustration from Lance to the situation where it belongs. Because Keith _wants_ to help Lance, he _does_. He just doesn’t know _how_.

“Are you sure about this?” Lance asks after a while, the same question he’s asked perhaps not many times before, but enough to show that, no matter what answer Keith gives, he’ll have just as hard a time believing it. “I wouldn’t be sure, if it were me, you know? Not after everything I did. I mean, _fuck_ , dude. I _shot_ you.”

“Lance,” Keith sighs, shifting to look at him more directly, awake enough to recognize now that this time was probably spawned by a nightmare, or the leftover concern from their most recent confrontation with Zarkon. It’s not just self-consciousness that has Lance gripping ruthlessly at the sheets around his ankles, it’s genuine fear. And not only the fear of losing Keith, but the fear of deserving it.

“I wouldn’t blame you, you know,” Lance runs a shaking hand through his hair, still not looking at him. “If you realize you’ve made a mistake.”

And that… That makes Keith just a little bit angry.

“I didn’t make a mistake,” he frowns, clicking his tongue. Lance flinches as if scolded, glancing at Keith with that familiar echo of hope in his eyes, even if it’s mostly overshadowed by saddened disbelief.

“But you haven’t…” He doesn’t finish the sentence, which is a shame, because it could have ended with any number of things.

He hasn’t told the rest of the team that they’re dating, not that they don’t already know. They’re hardly subtle about their new comfort around each other, the physical proximity probably enough to alert even a Galra sentry to their new, intimate status. Still, all things considered, Keith hasn’t exactly put it into words.

He hasn’t said, “I love you,” since they left Saveelia’s sector three weeks ago, not because he doesn’t feel it, but because those words are special. Important. He wants to hold them close and keep them precious, save them for moments where they mean the most. Lance has said it to him at least once a day, if not more.

He hasn’t exactly forgiven him either. Not in so many words.

Now that he thinks about it, there’s a lot he hasn’t done, really.

“Look, Lance, I-”

A familiar wail pierces the air outside Keith’s room, the alarm effectively bringing an end to the conversation and any hope of further rest. Allura’s voice is stern as it echoes about the Castle. _“Enemy approaching. All paladins to the bridge for mission briefing.”_

They both look towards the door out of reflex, then back at each other, Lance’s mouth tugging into an obviously forced smirk.

“Guess it’s good I got you up, huh?” The humor falls flat, not even close to reaching his eyes. When Lance removes himself from the bed, Keith grabs for his wrist out of reflex, keeping him in place. Lance needs to go back to his room for his suit. Keith should already be changing into his. But for some reason, Keith stays frozen in place, eyes searching Lance’s face for something he’s too distracted to properly locate.

So, instead of wasting any more time, he lets go, offering a tight, borderline pleading, “This isn’t… We’ll talk more about this after, alright?”

That look Keith had been trying to define, that cocktail of emotions Lance has no choice but to constantly wear on his sleeve, settles into a frankly laughable attempt at nonchalance. “Sure thing, buddy,” he says, voice tight. “No big.” And then, with barely a look back at Keith, he hurries out of the room.

When it comes to bottling up his emotions, pretending everything is okay, Lance is a complete failure. As someone who’s grown too adept at the concept over the years, it’s something Keith can’t help but admire. Even when it hurts to look at.

They’ve managed to get their assembly time down quite a bit since their first couple of missions, everyone congregating on the bridge in under five minutes of the alarm. Lance is already at his station when Keith jogs in. His eyes are locked on his screen with an almost unhealthy amount of focus, brow pinched and bottom lip jutting out as his fingers fly over the display.

Allura proceeds with her briefing the moment Pidge and Hunk arrive, settling at their own stations. Keith normally only pays half attention to these things to begin with, his own assignments usually pretty straightforward, so he spends most of the explanation watching Lance. He gets the gist of it (a Galra fleet on the outskirts of an approaching sector, peaceful planets with no affiliation to the Empire, protect and defend) but his mind is frustratingly elsewhere.

He doesn’t like when Lance is distracted, especially when it’s something Keith should be able to prevent. A distracted Lance is a liability not just to the team, but to himself too, and if Keith’s being honest with himself, the latter is the one that scares him most. Maybe if Keith were better at reading him, better at understanding the melee of emotions always going through Lance’s head, he’d be able to comfort him properly. Maybe if he were a better, more attentive boyfriend, Lance wouldn’t feel so insecure. Surely there’s something he can do. That’s his job, right? Lance trusted him with his heart and he should be able to take care of it, not send it into battle rattled and guilt ridden and unsure.

A thought strikes, sudden and promising and well… a little embarrassing maybe, but hey. If it works.

The briefing wraps up quickly, the usual order to head to their lions effectively dismissing the team. But before everyone has a chance to even remove themselves from their stations, Keith gets to his feet and walks purposefully over to Lance. He’s halfway to his feet when he notices Keith’s presence, pausing in an awkward slouch for a brief, perplexed second before straightening.

“What’s up?” Lance smiles, confusion still plain on his face as he glances about the room. Keith doesn’t need to do the same to know that everyone has noticed the break in routine, all eyes probably locked on their tense and awkward confrontation. Good. That’s what he wanted. “You alright there, buddy?” Lance asks when Keith doesn’t speak quickly enough. His voice is nervous, eyes continuing to only settle on Keith’s face for a second at a time. Everyone’s probably expecting a fight, or a challenge maybe, but Keith takes a breath and does something unprecedented.

Without warning, he grabs the hard collar of Lance’s space suit and pulls him in, kissing him soundly. Lance tenses, squeaking in surprise, but habit and familiarity has him melting into it out of reflex. Despite the uncomfortable setting, the awkwardness of an audience, Lance even licks into his mouth, moaning against Keith’s lips before realizing himself and pulling away in surprise. Lance’s eyes are wide, the beginning of Keith’s name already forming on his tongue, but Keith doesn’t give him the chance.

“I love you,” he says, loud enough for the whole room to hear. And hear they must, because he knows no one has left for the hangers yet, but the bridge is so silent that the usually ignored hum of the Castle’s engines seems suddenly deafening. So, to make sure his point is driven home, Keith says it again. Just in case Lance was too dumbfounded to process it properly the first time. “I love you, alright? So just… stop second guessing yourself.”

A beat passes, another, and Keith starts to get worried, that embarrassment from before creeping in around the edges. But then Lance is smiling, eyes shining as he nods.

“Okay,” he whispers, then repeats himself louder, as if his voice is gathering strength from the growing width of his smile. “Okay. I’ll try, I- I love you too.”

Hearing it out loud, especially when surrounded by the rest of the team, has the unfortunate side effect of causing a rather noticeable blush to settle in Keith’s cheeks. Worth it, of course, but he could probably do without the commentary that chooses that moment to crop up.

“Gross,” Pidge snorts already halfway to the door, Hunk not far behind her. His words are more encouraging, possibly even fond, though Keith misses most of them in his embarrassment, especially when Shiro distracts him with a hand on his shoulder.

“Took you long enough,” he smiles, voice laced with amusement, and Keith shoves that hand away petulantly even as his heart soars. When he looks over Shiro’s shoulder, Allura is talking to Lance, something about how this will strengthen the bond between Red and Blue, and Keith swears Lance looks close to combusting from humiliation. So Keith ignores Shiro’s chuckle and walks up to them both, grabbing Lance’s hand and bodily dragging him away. 

Coran calls something at their backs that Keith’s too frazzled to hear, but when he glances over his shoulder, the Altean’s eyes are proud.

It’s not until they’re alone in the hall that Lance finally manages to ease himself out of his stupor, intertwining their fingers together as he speaks. “So, um. Does this mean you _do_ forgive me?”

Keith nearly yanks Lance’s arm out of his socket with how quickly he comes to a stop. But _seriously_? A public confession wasn’t enough to smother Lance’s doubt? What else is he supposed to-?

“Relax, dude!” Lance laughs, throwing Keith even more completely off guard. “I know you love me. That’s what matters. I’m just curious. You know. For posterity’s sake.”

And that… That’s so Lance, isn’t it? Enough so that Keith finds himself shaking his head in amusement, a smirk of his own pulling into place at the corner of his mouth. The words are out before he really puts thought into what he’s doing. The idea just seem too good to pass up.

“How about this? One on one headcount. You take out more Galra ships than me before the invasion force turns tail, and I’ll forgive you. Clean slate, no more doubts, we never mention it again.”

For a moment, Lance looks surprised, maybe even a little confused, but then slowly, with the dawning of an eager and devious realization, Lance grins. “Alright then. So, I win, you forgive me. Verbally, possibly in writing. I’ll let you know. But what about if _you_ win?”

Keith lets go of Lance’s hand just long enough to dramatically tap at his chin, a feigned attempt at pondering. “If I win,” he says, dropping the position to look Lance dead in the eye. “You suck my dick in Blue’s cockpit.”

Lance takes a step back, eyes widening in shock. He looks torn between aroused and appalled, though the way his pupils dilate the longer Keith holds his stare, it’s impossible not to know which side is winning. Eventually, Lance’s grin returns, a look of familiar challenge in his eyes.

“Alright, Mullet. You’re on.”

They shake on it, squeezing just shy of too tight, before practically sprinting towards their hangers. 

And yeah. Sure. Maybe a part of Keith had forgiven Lance the moment he’d walked into the Saveelian brothel. Maybe a part of him also recognizes that using that as basis for a challenge is stupid, definitely reckless. But hey. It just feels _right_ , you know? It feels fresh and exciting, like old rivalries seen through new perspectives. It feels the same but different, like sharing a familiar bed with an unfamiliar body for the first time. 

It feels real. It feels easy.

It feels like them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks again, my darlings! It's been real.

**Author's Note:**

> Part two will be from Keith's perspective. See you next week, kiddos!
> 
> Title from the song _Heavydirtysoul_ by Twenty One Pilots


End file.
